The Storm
by lollercakes
Summary: Peeta was returned to District 12 too soon. How does he handle a relapse of his hijacking? Mature content.
1. Chapter 1

It was too much today. Too many flashing lights and too much rain slapping the roof with a vengeance. The storm raging outside was shaking his bones. It hadn't been many months since his return to District 12 – the _great_ Dr Aurelius claimed he had made excellent progress and pushed for him to return. Peeta knew he only wanted to move on to the paying customers – customers bent on erasing the Capitol version of the war from their minds. His return was harder than he expected, prompting fresh memories that were a mixture of real and shiny and that pulled him backwards in his recovery. He was relapsing and there was no Doctor and no family and no _her_ to save him this time.

He tried not to be bitter. And he tried very desperately to stay away from _her._

But today it was just all too much as he sat on his torn couch in his desolate Victor's House in the remains of what was once his home. Watching the rain pound the ground outside, Peeta clung to himself hoping his next hijacking would come sooner rather than later. At least in the dark of a storm he could mask the rage and the damage and the screams. Well, at least he could try. His walnut bedposts would never reassemble themselves after he shattered them.

The last time his mind had let loose, _she_ had been at the window, watching through the pane of glass and gripping the sill with white knuckles. She hadn't entered the house to save him. And he hadn't been conscious enough to notice. It was only after, as the headache pulsed through his skull that he'd seen her slink away, shoulders tense. He knew she wouldn't come back – she was just as damaged as him.

Later, as he held himself tight in front of a dying fire he never noticed he'd built, Sae came with a bowl of game stew. She sat on the couch and watched him for a while, silence enveloping them. Peeta couldn't tell what she had been waiting for and didn't want to give in to whatever it was. He was tired of the silent manipulation everyone used against him. He was no longer playing their games. Soon after, Peeta heard the rustle of fabric, felt the warmth of a blanket over his shoulders, and realized Sae had left. He was alone again, the bowl of stew cool next to his head. Slowly he reached for it, his muscles aching from the stress of being clenched tight for hours, and sipped its broth. The squirrel meat reminded him of a warm stove and the smell of fresh bread. His legs curled back into his chest and he slipped into darkness as the tears stained his cheeks.

Peeta's mind clicked back to the present, the fleeting memory dissipating and leaving him overly conscious of his _now_ and the storm creaking outside. He lifted himself to his feet, prodding slowly into the kitchen and opening the glow of the fridge to illuminate the room as he scavenged for anything to fill his stomach. He knew once the 'jack hit that he could be gone for hours, or days. He never really knew how much time he lost without someone to monitor. He would argue though that at least he could feel the darkness coating his mind like the black tar from the Capitol street he knew to be real. The same tar that had almost made him kill _her _last time. He grabbed some cool cheese and the loaf of grainy bread from the counter and sat to eat a few slices.

His thoughts returned to that street and he knew without panic that it was going to be a bad one and that _she_ would be the feature again. His insides clenched tight at how much he hated hating her. He was tired of it. He just wanted her to be there and for him to be right and for them to have never gone into the Arena. He wanted to go back in time to a dingy coal-coated school building with small desks and her braid hanging lightly on her shoulders and her olive skin brightened by her grey eyes. He finished his second slice and gripped the table's edge as the thunder rolled.

It hit like it always did, a brick to the temples and a flash of rage, bleaching his cheeks of colour and making his adrenaline pump. His heart stuttered with the rush of chemicals as he rose, steady and limping, to the porch door where he looked out. The storm was lashing the windows of Haymitch's poorly painted shutters but Peeta didn't see it. Instead his mind focused on the Capitol street where he tossed Mitchell into his death. _She_ was there, egging him on, cuddling up with _him_, with _Gale_, laughing with sharp teeth and muttation traits. _She_ wasn't human. _She_ wasn't even his anymore. Ever.

Peeta twisted on his feet and reached for the chair he had risen from, gripping its back and bringing it down on the window, on his reflection. The shatter rang out above the noise of the storm and he yelled out his breath. The rage barrelled through him as he reached and uprooted the table knocking it into the stove gate. He began to pace the now open kitchen floor, shoving various knick knacks his mother had brought to the floor with a shattering crash. His feet were bare as he quickened his pace in the glass. If there was recognition of the blood streaks forming it didn't show.

Once the destruction of the kitchen was complete, his mind propelled him into the dark of the front room where his makeshift couch-bed was waiting. He grabbed at the already existing tear that ran from the leg to the shoulder and pulled. Fluff and fabric rained around him as his mind flashed with images of birds being pulled apart and feathers coating the room. His mind never saw what was real as the black coated tar slithered through.

It was hours before he felt _her_ presence watching from the doorway. Somehow still deep within the black he had felt he wasn't alone. His blood boiled and his mind seized another vicious and shiny memory. He hadn't moved from the front room, instead choosing to rip tiles from the mantle place as he bloodied his fingers.

"Peeta?" The voice was unsure and hesitant as it penetrated the black. He turned and the menace in his too-wide pupils caused _her_ to falter and step back. He stepped forward. There was no washing of the tar from his mind yet. He was still smothered by its thickness.

"You need to leave," he rasped. He must have been yelling for his voice to be so ragged. She shook her head and replied "I can't".

A moment passed as his fingers flexed in and out of fists. His mind was racing with bright and shiny memories, every so often stunted by a dull memory of a warm embrace or a chaste kiss. He didn't know which was real. It stuttered on a shiny scenario of limbs and sharp teeth that bit his skin, the thought violent and terrifying. In his rage he stepped forward again and she reached out with her hands not to grab but to halt. He lifted one hand and grabbed both of hers in his and then pulled her towards him. She tumbled and tripped over her feet and fell into his chest roughly, her hair and shirt soaking through his shirt and dripping on his floor from the rain. He forced his lips down to hers roughly and pushed them against the wall. Her wrists tried to force his release and she struggled to step back. She was strong enough to force it, if necessary, but her heart wasn't in it. Some reason had propelled her into his darkness and he knew she was just as destroyed as him. He lifted her hands over her head and adjusted to holding each hand in one of his own. Peeta's mind was still replaying shiny thoughts as he gripped tighter, fresh bruises undoubtedly springing forth on her forearms. She whimpered under his pressure and it was like his mind split in two.

Inside it was as though he was watching two camera scenes play out – a shiny memory of _her_ ripping his hair out and scratching for his eyes and the second of himself violently forcing himself on her, his body reacting to the contact of hers. His consciousness hated himself but he couldn't find the control to clear the black away. His body was winning, tearing at her shirt sleeves and flipping her face-first against the paint. He bit her neck in return and pushed his clothed self against her from behind; his insides recoiled as she sobbed once, her hands still strung up above her in his grip. She'd given up the fight and was letting him do this to her – where was her fight? Where was his _Katniss?_ He didn't understand. He didn't understand why he couldn't stop hurting her.

And then he was in a corner having propelled himself there in a moment of light in the black. He vomited up his bread and cheese into a pile of sick as she curled up across the room, her shirt half-hanging off her shoulder. His fingers clutched, bloody and sore, around his knees as his mind began to clear. He needed to leave; he needed to help. He was torn and knew he had no recourse to help her now. He had done this. He had broken her.

Crawling to his ripped feet he pushed out the back door and sprinted the few hundred yards to Haymitch's porch as the rain pounded on his shoulders. Peeta didn't wait to knock and he tore through the door and into the foul kitchen where Haymitch was unconscious on his table. Peeta screamed and cried and babbled nonsense until Haymitch stuttered awake and sobered into awareness. With one quick look at the blood and mess on and around him, Haymitch was out the door.

Peeta watched from afar as Haymitch hesitated on Peeta's porch, examining the broken glass and bloody kitchen as he slowly entered. And then Peeta was gone, running through the Village, running for the fence. He couldn't face what he'd done. He'd rather die. And so he made into the woods, tearing through the branches his shirt whipping in the rain and catching on the tree. His lopsided step tripped him up on a rock and he tumbled down and down and down until he went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

When Peeta awoke he was no longer in the forest – was he ever in the forest? He couldn't remember. His headache was heavy as was his breathing which hurt when he tried too hard. The panic was riling up in his throat when he looked down to the bandages covering his hands, ribs and foot. Where was his shirt? What happened? Why was he in a _bed_? He never came up here. It reeked of bakery bread and dust and reminded him of home.

He looked slowly from his propped position, recognizing instantly that he wasn't going anywhere fast – especially not if he could barely breathe. As his gaze scanned around the room it settled on old shirts, a closet full of them. None of them were his – only his brother's. Whoever had put him here had obviously picked the wrong room. Or had noticed the broken bed frame in his.

His chest was tight for reasons beyond his bindings and he needed air and needed it fast. Despite the ache and the now obvious bruising running up his side he struggled to push clear of the sheets tangling his legs. Pulling himself to the edge he rolled onto the floor a large _thump_ ringing out and causing fresh aches to spear through his bones. The blood pounded in his ears as he struggled to breathe.

It was seconds before a new stench of bile and alcohol filled the space. Haymitch had casually opened the door to find Peeta half naked squirming and choking for air. Where had he come from and what was he doing here? He sighed loudly and lumbered over to grip Peeta under the arms and help him to lay back so as to catch his breath. There was no way Haymitch alone had pulled him home – if it wasn't all a mad hijack in the first place. But where else would these new wounds have come from?

After a moment of hard breath and a pillow being placed casually behind him with a blanket tucked over him, Peeta pinched his eyes and squinted towards his drunken Mentor.

"What the fuck?" Peeta never was really one for swearing, but the scenario seemed to require it. Or it was the lack of patience and added confusion of his state. Haymitch gathered mentally and sat back on his haunches, struggling not to tip over.

"Thom and I had to drag your carcass back up the hill. I'm a little tired," he mumbled, sweeping a hand across his brow as though he was wiping sweat clear. Peeta again struggled to move to a sitting position but halted when his breath ran out. Thom was one of the few citizens of pre-bombed District 12 who had returned after the war. Peeta had never really known him, except to pass when he first returned to the District.

"It was all real then." It was a statement, not a question. The guilt raked over him and down his spine. He had actually hurt _her_. No, her. "Why didn't you let me stay out there? It would have been better for everyone," Haymitch stared at him, likely noticing how his skin was gaunt and that there were bruises that weren't as recent as his latest relapse. Haymitch shifted to his knees and began to stand.

"Because there are important people in this world who need you to survive. Now, stay down and rest for once," he turned to leave and Peeta failed to grasp his words. He didn't want to be left just yet.

"Is she... Is she alive?" His voice quaked with the thought. He knew it was real but he couldn't remember enough to cease his doubts. Haymitch paused in the doorway, his hand clenched hard on the frame and nodded.

"How did you find me?"

"Boy, you were never graceful in the woods," Haymitch called as he sauntered down the hallway and descended the stairs. Peeta listened until he could hear the door close and then again attempted to move out of the room. He couldn't stay here – he'd rather be in the hallway for all it mattered.

With his goal reached, Peeta curled into the fetal position and wallowed under the blanket, his nose pressing against the floorboards. He'd hoped that it was all just a bad 'jack – that he'd actually just imagined all of the terrible things he'd done. But he hadn't just imagined it. His consciousness flittered out and his soul hurt.

Haymitch didn't return that afternoon, or anytime that day, and Peeta wondered if he was truly abandoned now that Haymitch knew he'd survived. Maybe, thought Peeta, maybe Haymitch just wanted to make sure he suffered the blight of living. That made sense.

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When Saes arrives with her granddaughter and Thom and they return him to _his_ bed, in _his_ room he knows he was wrong. The shattered bits of walnut bed posts seemed to have been removed with a new change of sheets. Sae's granddaughter plays fitfully in the corner with his old paintbrushes, long since abandoned along with the canvas stacked against the wall. Thom pulls in a chair and sits down in a far corner, pulling an old book from his satchel, effectively ignoring him. It seems to Peeta that maybe Thom is only here as protection and maybe because nobody can seem to handle the size of him themselves.

Sae returns to the room with a bowl of noodle soup and a slice of bread, a bag of medical supplies hanging on her shoulder. That answers that question, Peeta thinks, as she settles down to check his bandages. Muttering to herself she removes the gauze and rubs a salve across his fingers. The sting hurts and he can't quiet remember how this specific injury happened.

Soon she moves on to his foot, pulling out some pliers. He lifts his head to watch as she pulls a few remaining shards of glass free.

"That should be all of the glass rejected now," she mutters. He wonders when she learned these medical skills. She wraps his feet up in sterile casings and then pets him on the shoulder.

Slowly, she pulls back the bandage across his ribs. A larger wound is splayed out on his right side where is seems he's missing some flesh. He doesn't know how he got it. He doesn't really care.

"Your chest will keep hurting for a week or so more. But you should be up and mobile soon." She gives him a pitying look and then goes to stand. He doesn't want to be alone, but he knows he can't ask. He knows he deserves to be alone.

When the group leaves, Peeta hears mutterings on the stairs as they depart. Thom's dark voice reaches out and Peeta can barely breathe when he says "at least Gale is back to help with her for now". Peeta's heart breaks as he realizes Gale must have returned to help _her_. He wonders what took him so long to return to her and his rage builds without a hint of 'jack venom.

His bread and soup sit untouched on the bedside table as he disappears again.

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His next few days are shuffled into an institutional routine as Sae comes to visit with Thom who continues to read in the corner. He's definitely protection, Peeta knows. She tries to feed him and helps him shuffle from the bathroom and back to bed and it's embarrassing and humiliating and he wonders how he'll ever pay her back and why she helps him when he's so despicable.

The routine only breaks when Haymitch checks in one afternoon. He sits in Thom's chair across the room and watches as Peeta stares out the window. He's silent as he sips from his flask.

"She wants to come see you," he says. Peeta tenses but doesn't move.

"No."

Haymitch sighs and pulls himself to his feet. "You aren't the only one lost out here, boy. She's why you're here and you know it so don't fucking waste her." Peeta's heart clenches at the thought.

"She has Gale. Tell her to go back to 2 with him. It's safer."

Haymitch steps toward the bed, a menacing look in his eyes. His hands unsmooth from fists and he kindly remarks that "You're a real shit, aren't you Mellark?" And strolls out of the room.

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It takes two weeks before Peeta kindly asks Sae to stop coming over. He'd rather things return to how they were before the storm. He notices instantly how the silence settles back in around the house. That night, he moves his pillow and blanket back down to the tidy front room that should be covered in violence but isn't, and sets up his bed on the couch. His nightmares weren't as bad here, he remembers.

Someone had come and repaired his things; his couch, his window. They'd even provided him with a new kitchen set. It felt odd, pulling the chair out from the table as he sat to _really_ eat for the first time since the storm. His fingers itched at the bottle of jam and sliced bread he found in his cupboards. He stared at his abandoned oven and ached to make something fresh. And then his thoughts turned to her.

He wanted to see her, he realized. Haymitch's proposition had gone unheeded. And now he wanted to see her. How selfish he was to want to apologize and hold her and take back all of the terrible things that he had done to her. His bread was gone and he was standing at her back door before he realized.

He shouldn't do this. He needs to go home. Home before he hurts her. His feet turn to leave and he's down the porch before Gale has him by his collar. He's flipped onto the ground without fight as Gale connects his fist with his face, once, twice, before Haymitch is pulling him off and _she_'s there and is screaming.

Peeta is bleeding again as he lays there wishing Gale would just finish him off. Gale shakes loose of Haymitch, muttering and spewing anger as he storms back inside. _She_'s gone again, before Haymitch forces him to his feet and moves him back towards his house.

"She wanted to come here, not the other way around. You can't surprise her like that right now, she's not Katniss right now," Peeta whips around at the words, blood coating his teeth. His rage at himself is balanced thinly.

"I don't know how to help! I'm only hurting her!" He shouts and before the words are out his fist is in his teeth and he's biting to hold back tears and the encompassing sadness he can't escape. Haymitch squeezes his shoulder and opens Peeta's porch door.

"Just wait." Haymitch mutters and pushes him inside Peeta's dark kitchen – thankfully it's been cleaned of the blood and mess from the storm.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Peeta head's into the square to buy some baking rations and any available food. His mind needs some semblance of normal and if a loaf of bread will bring that – he will make it. His thoughts are dark and reflect on his face in the torn skin and bruised eye and cheek. The merchants glare at him and back away – Peeta is sure that they know what he's done. His colour creeps up his cheeks and he buys his goods and steals away back to the Victor's Village, past the burnt down houses of the Town Square and Seam, as quickly as possible. It is empty as though nobody even exists. Peeta wishes it were true.

In his kitchen, his hands make do with the supplies he has. He scrapes together a loaf of sweet bread and places it in the oven, retiring to his bed-couch to think. He wonders how his days have resolved to fits of hijack, staring and sleeping.

When the buzzer screams out, he's shot back to consciousness as he prods to remove the hot loaf. He forgets to use a towel and singes his new skin, yelping in the process. The bread was a success, but the burn has turned his mood sour, slowly opening the dam to the black tar in his mind. Turning off the stove and pressuring his temples, Peeta makes his way slowly to the basement – a new plan forming in how to handle a hijack.

The space is dark and looming, empty of all but concrete and the boiler of his house. He slowly lowers himself into a corner and grips his fingers tight over his eyes. It won't be a bad one, he knows, as he bites into his hand to hold in the scream.

His thoughts flash back to the dark of the cave in his first Games. _She_ is hovering over him, fangs exposed and fingers crushing into his arms. His body is on fire and _she_'s burning him. He thrashes around with the shiny memory, feet slamming into the wall. His false leg somehow dislodges and he's rendered helpless as the black takes over.

It's mid-afternoon by the time Peeta reassembles and climbs out of his basement. His head is throbbing and his pupils haven't quite returned to an appropriate size. He smells the bread in his kitchen and turns away, his stomach wrenching at the thought of eating.

He beeline's his way to his couch and curls into a ball, the back cushions falling over him under his blanket. His mind does not hesitate in collapsing into unconsciousness.

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It's dark outside when he opens his eyes. They sting with the remnants of salty tears that he hadn't known he was shedding. He curls in more tightly to the couch, the springs providing an aching comfort into the healing wound on his side. When his breath grows short he shifts himself around and starts –

_She_'s here.

His earlier hijack still lingers in the back of his mind and he clenches his fingers in his shirt. She sits quietly, watching his reaction with her gauged black eye and her long-sleeved shirt. He knows that if he were to roll the sleeves he would see the bruises he gave her. The pain he caused.

Her hair is loosely tied in her standard braid as she sits cross-legged, staring, with her back to the fire. He wants to run.

"You should go," he whispers. He hopes she listens this time. He'll die if she does.

She flicks her eyes above him and then back, continuing to stare. Refusing to move. Peeta hears a chair scrape and a shuffle in the kitchen, then the screen door slams. He's torn between happy that she was smart enough to bring protection but sad and angry that he was the cause. He'll never forgive himself.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I needed you to know that I'm not afraid of you. And that I need you to be okay." Her eyes fall closed and she takes in a breath. He stopped holding his. This wasn't right. She should hate him. She does hate him.

"I hurt you. I'm so sorry." His breath shuddered past and the tears he'd been holding threatened to leak out. His bloody, bite-marked hand returns to its familiar place between his teeth. She slides her eyes to the floor and remains silent.

Slowly, very slowly, she approaches him and places her fingers on his hand trying to remove it from his clenched jaw. She trembles slightly as she reaches up and strokes his face, soothing his bruises. This isn't right. She shouldn't be comforting me. He shoves backwards and moves to sit stiffly far away. She bounces back like a timid bird, measuring and preparing for a strike. He did that to her. He hates himself.

"You should go," he says again. This time the edge in his voice is aching to make her believe she needs to leave. She watches him and gets to her feet. Gale who must be listening at the door opens the screen and steps in. Peeta grimaces and stares at the floor.

"I'll come back tomorrow, Peeta," she states, loud enough for Gale to hear. Peeta doesn't want her to. Wants her to never return. He wishes she would stay. She touches his golden hair as she walks by and he gently grabs her fingers and brings them to his lips. He hears steps approach from behind and he releases her hand as if it had burned. His shiny memory in a burning cave flits back in and he tenses his shoulders, "Leave, now" he strains, he hears the door slam shut and the mumbling of Gale as they disappear across the lawns.

His headache returns and he pulls himself back down into the safety of his cushions.

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He wakes to find his hand gripped in hers, her body sleeping in her hunting gear on the floor next to his couch. He didn't have any nightmares that he can recall.

Slowly, he removes his hand from her grip and steps away from the couch. She shivers and curls up tighter, her hand splaying and searching on the floor for his. He places his blanket over her like Sae did so long ago it seems, and heads into the kitchen.

He wonders how she got past Gale and Haymitch to come here unattended. He should leave in case they come looking or he has another fit. Instead, he sits at his table and scratches at the exposed wood. His thoughts begin to race on what to do as he carves away, having grabbed a small tool to begin shaping his table.

A rustle is heard behind him, followed by a whimper and his shackles come up. His mind spins as the black tries to creep in. No, no, no! He shuffles to his couch and then steps back at the sight of _her_ gripping herself tightly into a ball on his floor. He knows she's having a nightmare. He knows he needs to help. He can't. He has to. Slowly he kneels next to her and touches her shoulder.

"Katniss, Katniss you need to wake up." Her body shakes and he palms her shoulder again, shaking her slightly. He falls backwards when she shoots up, the knife from her boot clutched in her fingers forcefully and thrust towards him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. His body tenses and the black is there, in an instant, as she struggles to find familiarity. When her eyes land on him they both scuttle backwards until they hit their respective walls.

"Peeta," she holds her breath tightly, not trusting. He pushes the black away, recognizing that it's Katniss and not _her_. He remains rigid at the wall, scared of himself.

"Katniss. You were dreaming. I didn't... I didn't know how to help," Peeta shifts himself further away, holding his fists tight. She looks alarmed and rumpled and confused. He hates himself again for not being able to comfort that fear. For causing it.

"Peeta?" She says again, as though his identity is still a mystery. She crawls toward him slowly and he breathes out what he thinks to be his last breath. When she meets his knees with hers, she reaches forward and grips his face in her hands, searching his eyes for something. "You're okay right now. I can see it in your eyes," she whispers.

Peeta stares at her, he's reminded of broken Annie Cresta and her odd phrasing and the delicate way that she approaches with uncertainty. He's ripped inside by his guilt. She was strong Katniss Everdeen once. No fear, always strength. And now she's broken and he played a part and he keeps _breaking_ her.

Katniss leans forward and forces her way into his lap and he can't run or crawl away and he's cornered and aching so badly for her to be closer. He's strung out and she's with him. He keeps his hands glued to the floor fearing that with one wrong touch he would relapse again.

Resting her forehead on his bare collarbone, Katniss breathes deep, pulling in his scent. He doesn't smell like warm bread and cookies anymore, he knows. His breathing is strained and she wraps her arms around him, pulling him tighter.

"You can't ever go. If you burn, I burn."

Peeta freezes. He remembers _her_ saying a similar phrase on a broadcast being shown to him while he was being tortured. Suddenly, he's back there. His hands wring and he bites his lip until it bleeds. The taste of blood in his mouth forces him up. He's no longer chained to the cold cement. Katniss falls back out of his lap and onto her ass, her sleeves drifting up and displaying fading yellow handprints. He can't look at her – can't even hear her speaking over the roaring in his head. His pupils are huge with a returning hijack and it's all he can do to run from his own house. His prosthetic leg trips him up in the Meadow and he scuffs to the ground. His chest aches from the exhaustion and he lays back and looks at the sun.

It's barely morning and he's lying, broken, in public, as his fear and panic overtakes him. He hears around him the morning bustle of the returned people of District 12. Faintly, he hears the scoffs and the judgements. At least he's wearing pants, he thinks. His mind buzzes but he remains still on the ground.

Too soon, Haymitch is there with his bottle and sour smell, taking a calm seat next to him on the ground.

"That's funny, I didn't know you to be an exhibitionist," he jabs. His breaths reek of stale and rot. Peeta continues to focus on the brightening day – his only link to the _now_ he's struggling with. "Peeta," Haymitch attempts again. He doesn't finish before Peeta rolls to his arms and knees and vomits up the bile lining his stomach.

"I didn't hurt her this time, did I? Is that why you're here? She made it to your house?" Peeta's head reels as he stumbles out the words. Haymitch's gaze whips to meet his and Peeta's heart stops.

"She didn't tell me anything, the local populace did." Haymitch grits as he rises to his feet with all the grace and speed an aging alcoholic can muster. His pace quickens when he's gotten his legs and Peeta can't stand to watch as in the distance Haymitch barges through his kitchen again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just an AN, I'll try to avoid these if possible, but I really, really appreciate the reviews I'm getting. Seriously, I started this as a oneshot to get it out of my head and didn't even expect any readers. So thank you, really. You're lovely._

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><p>Haymitch hadn't yet left his house when Peeta crawls to his feet. He's worried his lip to pieces as he slowly approaches. He couldn't have. He would remember. He would feel it in his soul. He'd made it out. She was okay. She had to be.<p>

Reaching for the handle he knew he was right and he knew he was also so incredibly wrong. Katniss was curled into herself, fondling a piece of rope with frayed edges as Haymitch watched from afar. Peeta stood in the doorway, unwilling to break the tentative balance that kept them quiet. He hadn't hurt her physically, but her mental state was as fragile as a seeding dandelion.

Time seemed to span out in unknown lengths before he saw the reflection of Gale in his newly repaired window. He was storming out of the forest, his game thrown across his shoulder as he launched himself through the porch door of Katniss' house. He must've realized she didn't get to the snares before him like he'd thought. Haymitch turned when he heard the door slam across the yard and knew time was up. Peeta stepped inside quickly and moved towards the stairs across the kitchen. He wasn't going to run, but he wasn't going to be an easy target either.

_She_ was the one who'd come to his house. _She_ was the one who needed the help right now. And he knew he couldn't give it to her. He knew he had to stay as far from her as possible.

Gale was fast. His eyes blinked from the daylight as he noticed Peeta standing straight ahead. His tunnel vision only allowed his hate to focus in one direction and he approached with fists clenched and ready to destroy. Peeta stepped forward once, his head lowered, waiting for the blows. He deserved them.

"Ahem," Haymitch coughed from the front room. Gale faltered, his eyes scanning and his face falling when he saw her. Turning on his heel, he redirected towards her and sat on the floor with their faces even. He reached for her hand and she spun away, a scream ripping once from her throat. Peeta leapt forward, his hands gripping the counter as he watched from the kitchen.

"She isn't the same Katniss," Gale muttered, the pain evident in his tone. Peeta knew then that it wasn't jealousy but pity he should feel for Gale. He stayed rooted. "I came back when... when I heard what you'd done. I was going to rip your throat out. But she was coherent. She was almost the old Katniss and she asked me not to." Peeta met his gaze and held it. "She's only like this sometimes – after a bad nightmare or when she sits and stares for too long. She won't even let us near her," Peeta's mind reels knowing that he had held her only just earlier.

"She was here when I woke up. And then she had a dream so I woke her up. And then... Well, I had a... a relapse. And I pushed her away and ran," Peeta mumbled, trying to explain how it all became so complicated. Gale nodded, recognizing a familiar scenario to one of his own encounters.

"She'll come back soon." Peeta took another step forward and her gaze rose to meet his. She shifted and moved to her feet without a thought to Gale or Haymitch. Her body crashed into his and he stumbled back, unsure if he could, or should, touch her. Gale stared, his face solemn and broken. He too, moved to his feet and sought quickly to leave. Peeta reached for his arm, "She needs you," he whispered. Gale stole a glance and shook free.

"She needs you more. Always will. If you hurt her again, I will come back and kill you."

Gale soon after was on the next train back to District 2.

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It's not long after Gale leaves before Katniss is railroaded into living with Haymitch temporarily. It is the worst possible case and everyone knows it but can do nothing to help – Sae has too many mouths already and he, well, he wasn't fit himself. Katniss' human instincts to eat and drink were subsided and she often slipped into endless knot-tying sessions. Peeta knows because he watches her tie and re-tie again and again from his porch. He's no better candidate to help her. At least Haymitch doesn't hurt her like he did. And at least Haymitch has stayed sober enough since The Storm to watch over her.

His thoughts stale as he feels the breeze brush him by. He has been getting better, his relapses coming fewer and farther apart. Only occasionally does she camp out on his floor when he's sprawled on the couch and only that happens when he's already unconscious.

He returns to making his old bread recipes, a foggy memory that would never be tainted by the shine of the 'jack. The smell radiates through the house and he makes mention of leaving loaves for those who have helped him, including Thom.

It's one afternoon after a rough morning in the mist that he gathers himself again in the basement, his back flush against the cold cement stone. His black tarred mind is murky like the weather as he feels the rip and pull of the drugs in his memories.

Afterwards, he pulls his body to his couch and crashes, dinner forgotten. His throat is sore from stifled screams and laboured breathing from his latest fight.

In the wee hours of the morning, he finally notices he's not alone. She's there again, curled towards the couch with one hand reaching for him and the other pillowing her cheek. He hasn't seen her sleep soundly in ages, often being startled awake by _her_ dreams. He takes a moment to watch her before he moves slowly and lifts her from the floor. He knows that she must not be comfortable on the hardwood and that they would both sleep okay upstairs.

Her body remains limp in his as he carries her up the stairs and into his room. She's so much lighter than she was before the last Games and it hurts to realize. The toll of the war and her trial has seeped not only her soul dry, but her body as well.

His bed is large enough to hold them both without forcing intimacy. She rolls onto her side and reaches with her fingers. Peeta shifts down on the edge of the bed and slides his hand under hers. Her fingers clench and hold as though never willing to let go.

He keeps his distance all night, not trusting himself to stay clear for fear of an unpredicted attack.

His eyes are tired and his muscles are sore from the tension of the night as the early dawn peaks its way in through the window. He'd somehow turned in the night and now lay with her flush against his back and her arms encircling chest. It was hauntingly similar to the train rides of the Victory Tour. Only this time it seemed as though _she_ was comforting _him_. His breath caught in his throat as the black simmered. His body subconsciously reacted to the press of her chest, her warm breath on his neck, and her legs tucked in with his. He needed to get away before the black took over.

His body lurched to his feet and he padded quietly down the two flights of stairs into the basement. His whimpers travelled the pipe and must have been audible somewhere for Haymitch to notice and sit himself on the top step to the basement level.

"Want a drink?" He offered. Peeta clutched at his temples and mumbled out incoherently. They both heard the soft, almost silent, footsteps of Katniss as she roused and made her way down to where Haymitch was sitting.

"You need a shower Haymitch," her voice rang, "What're you doing here anyways?" Slowly she poked her head around the door frame and looked down to where Peeta was huddled. "Oh, Peeta," she whispered, her voice ripping across the otherwise silent room. Haymitch grabbed her arm as she pushed past, his fingers tight in warning. She turned without concern and pried his hand loose and then approached cautiously.

Peeta stared warily from his corner, terrified of his reaction, terrified of _her_. As she stepped closer his hands gripped his knees, it was all he could do to keep from shaking. She seemed level. She seemed so safe.

Lowering down she shuffled close and placed her hand over his on his knees. "It'll be okay, Peeta." Her fingers tentatively squeezed and she sat back to join him. His eyes shut and the tears he'd been holding leaked out. They sat together in silence, his shame suffocating them, as he struggled through the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta awoke on his couch to the yelling match happening behind his house. Somewhere in the back of his mind he found it comical that the Capitol had thought backing Victor's houses into each other's yards was a good idea. It undoubtedly caused tension. But this was more than that.

Outside his window, Katniss and Haymitch were having a row of epic proportions. Haymitch's geese were squawking around the yard as though they bore no witness to the showdown.

"You're such a fucking _drunk,_ Haymitch! You wouldn't know if I was here or there or in the goddamn _forest_ if Thom didn't tell you!" She screamed the words out. Peeta could tell from his position in the window that her posture was tight. She was a spitfire, a force to be reckoned with. "And worse, now you're trying to tell _me_ how to behave as though your behaviour for the last 20 years wasn't anything but respectable!" It was like a slap, Peeta saw as Haymitch's head whipped downwards. He'd never seen this submission from Haymitch before and the realization made him cold.

Peeta still didn't understand fully the problem. How had this argument started in the first place? He couldn't hear Haymitch's response from his porch as Katniss spun and marched towards Peeta's door with a look of vengeance. The black oozed slightly as Peeta's memory flickered with a scowl loaded with hatred - the thought past when she walked through his door and he saw her tear streaked cheeks.

"What was that?" Peeta asked, timid near his perch at the window. He wasn't ready to get closer just yet. She pulled out his kitchen chair and sat heavily at the table.

"He keeps telling me I'm not allowed to come over without someone else here," she whispers. Peeta understands where Haymitch is coming from – he was the one who found her after what he did, she knows that.

"He's right, Katniss."

"No, he's a fool. What you did wasn't anything I couldn't have stopped," she's quick to rebuttal. Peeta winces.

"I'm not safe Katniss. And if you were alright you would have stopped me. But you're not. We're bad for each other right now. We're too close to the edge. Haymitch is only trying to make sure you're safe and that you keep living – you can't hate him for that."

Katniss looks up to him, a fresh look of anger colouring her cheeks.

"Don't tell me I'm messed up! I know I am. But I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to keep you here with me so you don't go away again! If that means a few bruises I'll take it."

Her words are like a punch to the jaw. She is just socking everyone today with her sharp tongue, he thinks.

"Katniss, that's the problem," he pauses, taking a breath, "You can't solve this by getting bruised. You can't fix something that can't be fixed. I can't stand to hurt you again."

"You can't stand to hurt _me_? You were_ tortured_ because of _me_. You are the way you are because of _me_. And I can't let that stay broken. I need you to be better, Peeta. I need you to be Peeta again. Or I can't be... " She halts, Peeta's mind shutters at the reminder of his torture. His breath quickens and his pupils expand. "Peeta stop!"

His gaze shoots up to meet hers and she's in front of him now, her hands reaching out. She runs her hand along his jaw and his hand snaps up to grab hers as his eyes return to normal. It's her turn for her breathing to quicken as he rises to his feet. She meets his stare and steps forward again, searching for something.

"Your eyes are Peeta, not Capitol," she whispers. His lips crash down on hers in a fierce kiss. His hand slides to the back of her neck and her fingers find purchase on his shoulders. It's a shock to his system as his lust breaks through and he bites her lower lip. He pulls her closer to him and gasps as her leg touches him where he's stiff. Peeta notices too late that this isn't what he should be doing. He shouldn't be forcing himself on her. He's hurting her. He steps back, pushing her hands away from him as her red lips hang open in shock.

"Go back to the safety of Haymitch's and listen to him for once. He's only ever tried to keep you alive."

And with that, Peeta retreats to his basement, slamming the door on the way. He doesn't think he'll be treated to a relapse, but he knows he's not safe to be around anymore.

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The warm smell of soup wafts up from where he sits in front of his blank canvas. He hasn't yet lifted a brush and he isn't sure if he should. His stomach clenches with hunger for the first time in months.

When he reaches the kitchen he's surprised to see both Sae and Katniss, settled around his space, Sae's granddaughter playing in the corner with some pots and pans. His eyes catch a movement on the porch as he realizes Haymitch is outside pacing.

"What's going on?" Peeta asks, worried instantly that something isn't right.

"We're going to have a real dinner," Katniss claims, motioning to the set table for three. Her voice is cautiously child-like and he considers for a moment, prompting further. Discarding, Peeta nods and moves to go outside to see Haymitch. Katniss watches like a hawk – something further must have transpired since Peeta had run away.

As the door swings, Haymitch turns to walk back towards him. He's cleaner than normal and he almost seems sober. The smell lifting from his skin tells another story, unfortunately.

"It looks like she finally figured it out. Too bad it's not a good time for you," Haymitch mutters. Peeta knows he's always been the one holding out for Katniss to come around – it only makes sense in this world that Haymitch is telling the truth. Another cruel hangover of the Capitol's Games. Haymitch pauses when they're nearly toe-to-toe, meeting Peeta's solemn eyes. "For once, I'm not worried about her so much as I am about what you'll do, and what you'll regret."

Peeta knows instantly that it's true. It's something they can't account for. That he can't control. He struggles internally, wishing he could throw everyone out and have his couch and his silence back. But he can't. He's Peeta, The Baker's Son, the mouthpiece behind the Star-Crossed Lovers. They need him to come back.

As they sit down, Sae excuses herself to cook dinner for her family. Peeta remembers to send another loaf to them in thanks – it's the least he can do. The table is awkward with silent glances and paused breaths, nobody quite knowing how to break the silence.

"Haymitch – listen – I shouldn't have said those things today. You were just being your shitty mentor self." His spoon drops in surprise at Katniss' near-apology, a huge guffaw rolling out to accompany the noise. The table breaks down into fits of laughter for the first time, lightening the mood.

"Sweetheart, you have no _idea_ how much of a handful you two are," Haymitch gasps, his voice a little edged. "I mean, you're either dying to save each other or killing each other yourselves." Once the words are out they hang in the air.

Peeta pushes his chair out, slowly rising from the table to leave the room. Katniss grabs his hand and yanks for him to return to his seat.

"We know. That's why we need some time to... Figure things out," she holds her breath at the end, unsure where her next sentence will come from. Peeta isn't sure either – he had no say in this discussion. If he had, he probably would have called for himself to be strung up in the Town Square. "I'm moving back into my house. And you're going to let me fail and stop babysitting me and let me make my own decisions again. I've come a long way from District 13, from the Capitol, and now I'm making my own choices. If I want to make bad choices, at least they'll be mine."

Peeta isn't quite sure why he's involved in this conversation. He feels the need to remove himself again from the scenario and Katniss scowls as he lifts once again to his feet.

"And you, Mellark, are going to sit down and eat this dinner. Because you're here and I'm here and there are so many people who aren't and they aren't because they sacrificed themselves for us and for all of _this"_ she says, her arms rising around her. It's a new passion he's never seen in her. She's found her words. He sits and extends his arm on the table, hoping she'll reach for his hand. She doesn't.

Instead, she finds her feet and paces around the room. They both watch from the table as she seemingly fades and gathers her legs into her chest on the couch. Haymitch side-eyes Peeta and shakes his head sadly. The clear Katniss has faded out again.

When they've finished eating, Peeta clears their plates and slowly washes them in the sink. Haymitch loiters for a moment and then retreats to his own home, mumbling about "getting her home safely". Peeta's hand holds the plate in his hand for dear life knowing that he's again alone with her. At least the black tar is in check tonight – he thinks. After the dishes are away and his kitchen is tidy from the mess, he turns to see her asleep on his couch, wrapped in his blankets.

The sight is both endearing and terrifying. What is going on? In a matter of days it is as though Katniss had never left his life. She has rooted herself back in so easily and so quickly he doubts his very resistance in the first place. But he knows other things to be true. He can't be trusted, not yet. And that she isn't going away anytime soon.

He gathers up his few evening routine items from the front room and slowly climbs the stairs. He can't sleep on the couch and he knows that after this morning's actions they should most definitely _not_ be sharing a bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Peeta's bed is moving, he realizes, as his mind forms into consciousness. It's also warmer than usual. He doesn't open his eyes but he can tell that it's not yet dawn. He reaches his hand out finding the bed is still empty and he wonders what he had dreamed of that had made him feel this _safe_.

Slowly, cautiously, he cracks open one eye to look around his room. _She_ is in the corner, turned away, pulling a shirt over her bare and scarred skin. It reaches to her thighs as she bends to pick up a pair of socks and pants. He can't help but stare as her strong legs disappear into her clothing. His body is hard again and he hopes she doesn't notice. He wants her to notice. He needs a cold shower.

She turns and he snaps his eyes closed, guilty for spying. He hears her approach and feels her lean close, her hand brushing his bangs off his forehead. She's like a whisper disappearing out of his room before he rolls onto his back and heaves a sigh.

Why is this happening? Why does she keep coming back? What if he hurts her again?

He doesn't care. He knows. He's selfish in enjoying that she still comes to _his_ bed at night. He's selfish because he wants so badly to have her for himself no matter how terrible he's become. His mind twists with self-loathing. It's not even morning and his day is already rumpled. Turning over, he attempts to fall back unconscious.

It borders on a pattern, Peeta finds, as he hears Katniss climb the stairs to his room a week later. He's been laying here for hours having wanted to get away from the blackness that had held him since he'd picked up his paintbrush.

The rage he'd felt as he'd decorated a canvas with a shiny scene of the forest was too much and he'd put his fist through a wall. His fit had struck almost instantly without warning as his memory had chalked up flashes of death and dying which spun him into violence around his paints. He'd been glad he was not in the cement of the basement for that one. The room and his clothing had been the biggest losers in the battle as his shirt had been torn and the room no longer had an attached door.

He'd struggled his way into his bedroom and confined himself there, not willing to move any further down the hall.

But as he heard her approach his body tensed. He didn't want her to see him like this. He couldn't have her close. He needed her close.

He could hear her footsteps pause at the sight of the destroyed room and then he heard her, "Peeta?"

She must have entered the room to search for him as he heard the crunch of dried canvas underfoot. Peeta winced at the sound. Not finding him there her footsteps quickened as she began opening doors in the hallway. There were only two left before his – he steeled himself.

"Peeta?" She whispered unsteadily as though he would pop out at any moment. He heard his door quietly creak and she held her breath for a moment at the sight of him covered in paint and torn bits of fabric. He couldn't turn around on his bed for fear of losing any semblance of control that he had accomplished in the silence. He bit his lip, silently praying she would read him and run fast and far. "Peeta can you hear me?" she asked, taking one step into the room.

"It's not safe," he ground out. His voice was harsh and ragged. She took another step forward and Peeta curled up tighter into himself – what didn't she _understand_?

"You're safe Peeta," she kept saying his name, trying to ground him to the _now_. "You are here, in your house, you are safe and nothing bad is real." Her body was at the bed now, he could feel her presence. Peeta's breath shuddered.

He felt her crawl onto the mattress behind him and reach for his shoulder, he flinched at the contact as his fingernails gripped into his skin. She stopped muttering and simply held steady, her presence acting as a conductor of calm. Her fingers were cold as she ran her hand into the nape of his neck and up into his hair. She must have been out hunting. He let go a little and sighed at her touch.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" She asked, her voice holding as she stroked down his spine. His body slowly relaxed at her touch.

"It was so real. I just wanted to paint the forest," he replied. He didn't understand how she could be this close to him after seeing what he'd done. After being the victim of what he'd done.

"Can you tell me about it?" Dr Aurelius had asked this of him before and he'd hated how it made him remember. From her, it was different.

"It feels like I'm suffocating. Like my head will explode and all of the blackness will coat everything and I won't be able to stop myself until I ruin everything. I see you but it's not _you_. It's some shiny Capitol mutt with fangs and claws and I can't help but _hate_ you with every fibre. I don't want to. But I do and it lasts for hours. It feels like I will explode and take the world with me. And then it ends and I can't figure out if it's real or not," he can feel her stiffen behind him at his words but her hand simply begins her calming motion again.

"Sometimes I feel like I'd die if I can't see you," she whispers, "I'm so far away sometimes. But you always bring me back; the thought of you brings me back."

"I think I've always loved you, Katniss. It's just… Now it's so hard to know if that was true or if it was all a dream. I want it to be real so bad that it hurts – that's usually how it starts. It's like a light switch that I don't really control."

"It's real. It's always been real, Peeta."

He can feel her sliding down the bed and curling into him, her fingers still playing at the base of his skull. She presses her lips to his jaw and he turns slightly, catching her lips with his. It's nothing like the fierce kiss from before. When it ends, he gently pulls her hand to his lips and holds them there, conveying everything he can't seem to put into words. They both quietly settle into the sheets and their breathing evens out with the depths of sleep.

They're sitting around the table in Peeta's kitchen again, eating dinner quietly. Haymitch comments on the saltiness of the game meat and snarls into his bread. His surly attitude since his fight with Katniss has only soured the atmosphere but they all know that Haymitch wouldn't be eating anything on his own anyways.

"I miss them," Katniss murmurs. Haymitch and Peeta can feel her fading into her own mood. Peeta shifts his hand close to hers on the table and taps one finger along her knuckles. She shifts her hand to cover his without a thought. "I want to remember them all. Every one of them. I want to remember _Prim_," her grey eyes meet the table and Haymitch shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

The room is silent for a beat as they all seem to face their demons. Peeta turns his hand in hers and grips tightly, the black throbbing in his mind.

"I think we should make a book. A memory book. They deserve _something_, they don't even really have graves!" Her voice rises shrill. Peeta nods.

"Where do we start?" He asks. Katniss finally looks up at him and her tears are brimming.

"Rue," her breath is slow with the words as he nods in agreement. His lips are tight. He's nervous about the doors they're talking about opening. He wants to help her with this but he knows that with any wrong turn he could be sucked down so deep he might not return.

"I don't want anything to do with this," Haymitch slurs as he gets to this feet. His dinner remains barely touched on his plate. He does reach for another piece of bread though as he heads for the door. He disappears across the darkness of the lawns. They know he has darkness to combat himself.

"I think it's so hard for him because he doesn't have anyone," Peeta mentions. Katniss returns a surprised look.

"He has _us_, Peeta."

"No, he has you Katniss. He can't even look at me after what I did to you. He always was trying to save you first. And in all honesty, I don't think you're enough for him," she looks like she's been slapped, his face flushes in embarrassment. "I didn't mean that as a bad thing. I just think he's lost so much more and he doesn't anything but the bottle to help him."

She contemplates what he's saying while worrying her lip. Peeta can see she's starting to fade further into thought and he squeezes her hand slightly. "Come back to me Katniss," he mutters. Her eyes close and she holds his hand tightly.

"When can we start?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Peeta, let's go outside."

It was an innocent enough demand that Katniss had been pushing the last few days. Peeta hadn't felt the need; all he'd wanted to do was sleep. She'd poked and prodded, arguing with him until finally giving up and grabbing her bow, making off on her own.

It was rare if she came back before dusk, having spent the whole day off doing who knows what. Peeta didn't mind. He had hours to sit in his repaired art room - which had taken three days to fix after his relapse. The walls were still splattered with paint (he insisted it was fitting) but the door was returned to its hinges and the wall had been fixed. He'd moved in the mattress from his brother's old room and flung it on the floor. And that's where he sat, spending his hours cross-legged on the mattress staring at the walls and blank canvas.

He couldn't figure out what to paint that wouldn't launch a relapse. He was afraid. He was terrified. So he sat.

But today was different; Katniss had woken up with a bounce in her step - a sight so unusual that Peeta had been caught off guard. Her tone wasn't playful anymore but instead commanding and Peeta was enjoying the resistance. He sat on his mattress in his art room, playing with the fraying threads.

"I don't know, it might rain." He knew it wasn't going to rain. The air was dry and hot and the sun was hanging over the crest of the trees. He just wanted to see her riled.

"Nope. You don't get a choice today. We're going outside and we're going to enjoy it and soak in the sun and be people again." She claimed and walked towards him, a menacing look in her eyes. He looked up and his grin was half-cocked.

"You'll have to drag me out there." A challenge. She reached down and grabbed his arm, throwing her weight back to pull him upwards. He didn't move and so she tried again, straining herself backwards and gritting her teeth. Peeta just smiled and quickly readjusted his weight, pulling her forward until they'd fallen back into fits of laughter on the mattress. This was a good moment. He wanted to stay like this forever.

Slowly though, their laughs began to settle and Katniss rolled over onto her back, her hand tucked in his. They lay there quietly, staring at the ceiling, not willing to break the mood.

"It's time to go now," Katniss cooed and then lifted to her hands and reached for his. He complied this time, wanting more of that light feeling back.

He wasn't sure exactly what she had in mind when they finally reached the edge of the forest. His mind twitched with memories of the night of The Storm and of the first arena.

"We're just going to stay here today. We're going to get reacquainted with the sounds." Peeta looked at her profile carefully as she stared into the trees. It was as though she could read his fears and she knew he didn't want to push it today.

Pulling from her satchel, Katniss unwrapped a sandwich and split it in two to share. Peeta thanked her quietly and lowered himself to the ground. Not ready to sit, she stepped forward into the trees, hesitating. She was acting as though she hadn't been in the forest before, showing all the fear that the old merchant kids had.

"I figured you didn't want to go in today. But I really want you to paint the trees again," she said, her voice fading slightly as she quietly padded past the first few pines. "I haven't gone very deep since I got back – all the game has been so close... I don't know if I should go deeper, really."

She spoke honestly, as though she was talking to herself more so than him. If she hadn't been going to the forest every day, where _had_ she been disappearing to? Peeta contemplated as he took another bite of his sandwich. He didn't have much to say, instead appreciating that she'd thought of him.

"I think," she hummed as she returned to the forest's edge, "that we should come out here every day and go a little bit deeper. It'll be good for us." She sat in a huff down next to him and began to nibble on her bread.

"I think that's a good idea," Peeta replied as he stared deep into the trees. His memories weren't as shiny here and he hoped they'd stay quiet, at least to enjoy the afternoon with her.

He knew that there wasn't really much to say when she pulled out his sketch pad and a few pencils handing them to him with a mention of "not knowing if they were the right kind of pencils". His fingers closed over hers as she handed them to him and he pulled in for a quick kiss. She'd really taken the lead today and it was like the old Katniss was here. He ached for her.

Quietly, and without prompting, he began to sketch.

After a moment, he realized that the black was tricking him. It was lurking as he drew the trees of the arena and not those ahead. He ripped the paper and discarded it, starting again. He needed to draw _exactly_ what he was seeing – that would ground him.

And so he did. Starting with Katniss' boots as they pushed out next to him and slowly expanding his gaze into the trees and rocks, sketching over the delicate leaves as they hung in the breeze. He was taking a picture with his mind, creating a memory that would always be real.

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He'd never realized how good sunlight could feel until that evening. It was warm and it just made the feelings and thoughts buzz so clear. He was excited as he began to prep for dinner that night, creating a smorgasbord of items from whatever was in his kitchen. Katniss watched, amused, from her corner perch in the open window nook of his kitchen.

It was so rare for them to spend the day together. Even rarer still for them to spend _happy_ time together. They'd never once had the opportunity to be normal before – always pushed together by the Capitol and their Games and the Revolution.

Today was a first.

A first he hoped would never have a 'last'.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor together later, next to his couch, Peeta and Katniss stared down at the blank pages before them. They'd arrived on the latest train through neither of their efforts and it was quickly decided that the culprit for the arrival of the smooth pages was the only one who wanted nothing to do with it.

Haymitch was trying, in his way. Like sending a parachute to two struggling Victors.

"I think, if you want, you should draw them. And maybe I can write something. And then we'll put it all together?" She offered. He nodded and grabbed the charcoal from his box. He wasn't sure how drawing the dead would impact him. He held his breath and drew the first line of Rue's jaw.

They'd agreed to start with her because of how much she represented to them. She'd been Katniss' ally and her reminder of _good_ throughout part of the games. She'd also been so very innocent.

It was even harder than he thought it would be. His mind flashed between reality and black as he continued to sketch. When his hand stalled and a tear dropped to the page he flung it all across the room. Katniss looked up startled from where she was writing on another sheet. She turned so they were face to face.

"Peeta, come back," her hand gripped his chin, not gently but not hard either. Steadying. She could see his mind struggling with the memories. It took a moment before his breathing evened out and he was able to pick up a new sheet and start over.

It was going to be an uphill battle, he knew.

Katniss returned to her writing once he was calm again. Peeta felt a cord of jealousy at how strong she was being. He quickly sketched out Rue's image again and then gently placed the paper and charcoal on the table.

"I'm going to bed," he pronounced and pushed to his feet. He looked down at Katniss from where he stood and he could see the tear stains on the page. He hadn't even realized she had been crying. He was torn - he wanted so badly for her to be strong but he couldn't help her without hurting her. His mind bubbled with unfounded anger as he turned and left abruptly. They were useless to each other. He was useless.

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He knew the dreams would be bad that night. It was as though he had been edging them on all day, pushing and pushing for mental punishment for how content he had been in the sun.

It wasn't a normal dream. He'd been running headlong through the forest, his prosthetic foot catching, it seemed, on every goddamn branch. Peeta wasn't even sure what he was running from, all he knew is that it was bad.

And that it was endless.

His mind warped again when he'd fallen flat on his back. The vines of the forest had risen up to lace over his ankles, his hands. He was bound to the forest floor with _her_ standing overhead, a foot on his chest, slowly pushing down. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move.

He was in the medical ward of District 13 again. He was held on a gurney. Something was smothering him and there were screams from somewhere in the distance.

Somehow _she_ was there too. He couldn't escape. _She_ was undoing his bindings, releasing his hands from their straps. His mind recoiled as he pushed his heavy body against her and they tumbled onto the solid cement floor.

He was raging vicious as he ripped at her pants and pulled to bare her skin. _She_ was crying out, her fangs barred, as he violently held her two hands above her head in his and put his other on her neck. He heard the crying gasp again from the corner as he lay bare from the waist down over her.

He hated _her_. He wanted. Needed. To hurt _her _like _she _hurt him. He pushed up against her and gasped.

It was like being washed down the drain as the blackness dissipated. He looked over to the corner where his memory had remembered the crying and saw Katniss huddled. There were too many tricks in this game. He didn't know what was real.

His heart stopped as reality came crashing back around him.

They were a tangled mess on the floor, their lower limbs were naked but for his socks. She was clutching his body tightly to hers and he was repulsed by himself. He couldn't sort it out. He needed air. He needed this to not be reality. What had he done? What had he _done_?

"Peeta?" She wasn't crying as he'd thought. He looked down at her, his face blanched white with fear and disgust. "Where are you right now?" She asked. Peeta didn't know. He was still hard and pressed against her. He couldn't move. "Stay with me Peeta. Stay here."

He cried out at the familiar words. What the _fuck_ was going on? He pushed to his feet and tripped over the one pant leg he still had on. They were on the floor? His scattered brain raced as he forced his way into the bathroom and expelled his stomach's contents.

She stood in the doorway in her t-shirt. How did she not understand? He'd hurt her again. _Again_. He puked again, disgusted with himself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she walked over and knelt beside him. He could smell the sweat on her, the heat of her.

"Katniss, I'm sorry," he sobbed. It wasn't manly, it was broken. He'd _assaulted_ her. His death was due.

"Peeta what are you talking about? You didn't do anything wrong. I was there, I was with you, it wasn't wrong!" Her voice rose with indignation. Peeta knew she must be lying. He didn't know what to do. He was so very lost. What was real? What was Capitol-made? Why was he still playing their Games?


	8. Chapter 8

He'd told her to leave. Told her to go and never come back. He'd knocked her comforting hands aside, recoiled, and shook.

She'd stared at him as though she didn't understand why he was pushing her away. He couldn't understand.

She hadn't come back that afternoon.

She hadn't come back at all that day.

Peeta had locked himself in the basement after the whole event. All in all it had played out until just before dawn, with him struggling to come to grips with his actions. She'd told him he hadn't done anything, that he hadn't _raped_ her. The word burned in his consciousness and made him sick. She claimed he hadn't pushed into her or taken her or destroyed her.

His mind rejected it all.

She'd claimed that she had thought he was awake when it all started. Apparently he'd been fully responsive. That made it worse. How could he appear fully responsive while being crushed inside?

He was so lost. He couldn't separate the shiny from the real and as the dawn creeped in further his own judgement became harder. And so he'd pushed her back and pushed her out. And she hadn't returned to him.

He could hear the quiet of the house and could practically feel the sway of the construction in the walls as the wind howled outside. He needed to find a way out of the District or a way to make everything stop. He picked up the phone and dialled the good ole' doc hoping for once that his heavy prescription pushing would come in handy.

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She didn't come back the next day either.

Peeta tried not to worry, tried to believe that it was for the best.

He pulled his baking supplies together to keep busy as his mind quieted. It had always been relaxing to feel his hands in fresh dough, to knead the pliant mixture into submission. In a time when he had so little control this action became necessary to his sanity.

And so he rolled and baked and decorated with icing sugar his warm sweet bread. And he felt a semblance of normal returning to him.

His medication had arrived earlier that day on the overnight train. It sat on his bedside table as he considered its effects.

_Side effects may include temporary paralysis, numbness, vomiting, and over-tiredness. _

Peeta wasn't sure if he wanted to be trapped in a shiny memory while also being paralyzed. But at least now he had an option for those days he felt a relapse growing. At least now he could pretend to be holding it together.

He went to bed alone again that night. He told himself it was a good thing. That it was what he needed. It made him feel incredibly alone.

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When she didn't come by the next day either he began to grow concerned. He told himself for the umpteenth time that he wasn't allowed to have both. And so he wandered into the square aimlessly, ending his journey upon the grounds of his family's burnt-out bakery.

Peeta was surprised when he felt very little reaction to the loss. His family had died here in the bombing and yet all he could feel was the emptiness that had been curling in the pit of his belly for months. For hours.

He stood there for a while as some of the townspeople looked on. He knew they were measuring him, testing him to see if he was still insane. Haymitch must have told them all what he'd done. His cheeks grew hot as he felt the burn of their combined stares. His shoulders tensed as he turned swiftly and began to walk back to the Village.

"Peeta!" He heard his name and paused his step, turning to meet Sae's gaze as she walked slowly towards him. Her gnarled hand clutched a bag of goods in one and a walking stick in the other. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, I haven't been by in a few days," she said. He could feel her eyes looking him over and searching for something.

"I'm fine Sae, thank you for your concern." He turned to head off again but was pulled back around by her hand on his arm.

"I'm glad the two of you are working it out," she paused, this time searching his face; he held his breath, "But I'm worried that she's not eating well enough. She hasn't been home for her meals in days and the last time I saw her she didn't look too good."

Peeta choked a little on his breath. "What do you mean she hasn't been home?"

Sae stepped back from him.

"She hasn't been with me. Have you been by Haymitch's?" Peeta's mind began to race. Where had she gone? He thought she'd been hiding out. He thought she was being smart and safe. Sae nodded her head and mumbled about the drunken mess of his house. Peeta didn't stick around to listen as he swung roughly and practically ran towards Katniss' dark Victor home.

Where could she be?

He flung open her porch door – nobody ever seemed to lock their doors – and was met by an empty calm.

"Katniss?" His voice rang out, bouncing off the walls. He trudged through the kitchen and began a room by room sweep. He opened every door and every closet. She wasn't here. His heart squeezed.

He rushed down into the basement and poked around some boxes, looking for any trace of her.

Returning to the main level he scanned the hallway and kitchen for her bow, for her shoes, for anything that would tell him where she was. There was nothing. He was panicking. It was worse than a hijack.

He spun in a circle and then made for the door again, storming across the yard to Haymitch's geese strewn porch. He didn't bother knocking as he barged in, the smell hitting him like a brick. At least when Katniss had being living here it hadn't been this sour. He cringed.

"Haymitch!" Peeta yelled though he knew it would be fruitless as the man was probably passed out somewhere. Peeta began his search in the kitchen, finding him finally in the front room as Haymitch sat unconscious in a chair in the corner. The room was covered in filth and featured a broken television set and a mess of bottles scattered around. Peeta crouched in front of him and lightly tapped his cheeks in an attempt at rousing him.

It didn't work.

He pulled at his arm and still nothing.

"Haymitch, you old drunk, wake up!" He kicked his foot into the chair and propelled it backwards. It rocked back on its hind legs creating a sensation of falling. Haymitch sputtered awake as his back hit the floor. "Good, you're up!"

Peeta leaned over him and evaluated the level of consciousness. Judging it fair enough he started in.

"Where is she? She's not at her house and Sae hasn't seen her for a few days!" His voice rose in pitch. Haymitch just looked confused.

"What are you on? Are you having one of your 'fits' again?" Peeta didn't have time for his mocking. He kicked the chair and Haymitch fell sideways onto his knees and attempted to stand.

"She hasn't been with me for days! I don't know where she is!" Haymitch seemed to click it all into place and his gaze sobered up again.

"And you checked her house?" Peeta nodded. His panic wasn't ebbing. He wrung his hands together. "I haven't seen her. Well, not since she came back like a lost puppy dog the other day. I told her to..." His voice trailed off slightly. Peeta reached and grabbed his arm tight.

"Where?" Haymitch met his eyes for the first time.

"I told her to go back to her lover; that she couldn't cry here. I just assumed she went back to your place," he finished. Peeta could see the cogs in his rusted mind come to life as he began to think about where she could have gone.

Peeta's hands clenched and released as his worry and fury at Haymitch's callousness began boiling his blood.

"I need to find her."

It was all he could say before he headed out the door again, Haymitch hot on his heels.

They headed first towards the square, hoping dearly that she'd just gotten caught up wandering the new construction grounds. They checked the gardens, the park, the meadow, the burned down remnants of the old Justice Building and the Undersee home. She wasn't anywhere.

Peeta led on, heading at a quickened pace into what used to be the Seam. Maybe she'd gone _home_, home.

The old coal dust coated his boots as he jogged the final hundred metres. Haymitch huffed up behind him as they reached what he had remembered to be her old home. It was now a derelict roof balanced unevenly on the few remaining supporting beams. The sun was sinking lower in the sky and Peeta knew the day was waning.

Haymitch moved forward into the creaking house, his steps more careful than Peeta had even seen them. When he disappeared, he held his breath. Where was she if she wasn't here?

He heard a rustle and something crash and he stepped forward before halting. Haymitch backed out of where he had disappeared and shook his head.

"There's nothing but a fireplace back there. It's not safe and she wouldn't stay here."

Where did she go? Was she Katniss right now or was she the childish shell of Katniss? The one who got lost in her own memories and struggled to come back? It terrified him. She hadn't been seen for days. And the last time he'd seen her... He'd forced her away.

Even in trying to save her he'd condemned her.


	9. Chapter 9

The phone was ringing on the other end as Peeta clutched to it tightly. The moment seemed to drag on forever. All moments now seemed to drag on forever.

"Hawthorne's!" Finally. Peeta paused, slightly confused listening to the young child's voice on the other end. He hoped he had the right number – phones were too new still.

"Uh… Is Gale available?" His voice was tight and on the other end he could hear shuffling and the phone drops on to a hard service, in the distance a scream for Gale. There was thumping, a muttered "Posy stop screaming", and then a heavy voice.

"Who's this?" Typical pleasantry.

"Is she there? I'd understand if she was, I just need to know." This was not the practiced speech he had intended to give over the phone. It was a flurry of words. He could hear the intake of breath on the other end, could practically see Gale pinching the arch of his nose.

"I haven't heard from her since I left. Her mother told me she was doing better..." His voice trailed off and Peeta wondered how often he talked with her mother.

"She's gone Gale; she hasn't been home all week." The stress of the truth was obvious in his voice.

"What do you mean she's gone? Where'd she go?" There was a new level of darkness to his voice and Peeta knew it was directed at him. He deserved it.

"We don't know, we can't find her, we've looked everywhere." And that was true.

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After Peeta and Haymitch had scoured the Town and the Seam they'd started for the forest. They'd stuck to the edge, within shouting rage of each other so as not to get lost. When the sun had dipped below the trees they had reluctantly withdrawn their search. They knew they'd be no help if they were just as lost in the forest at night.

They'd stared at each other as they contemplated their next move. Peeta could feel the burn of Haymitch's fury mingled with concern.

"We'll start again tomorrow. Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll come in for rations," Haymitch muttered.

"She doesn't need rations. She would never forget how to hunt."

"Well maybe she was smart and finally escaped this place! Took off in the woods and doesn't _want_ to be found!" Peeta could feel the words choking the air. He was so right.

"I'm going to stay at her place tonight, if you get any ideas from the bottom of that bottle." It was a low blow but Peeta hated the thought that soggy old Haymitch was ready to give up. Or he already had.

He'd retreated to her house and thought about calling her mother in Four but realized she would probably be at work. He left a voicemail anyways and then trudged up to her room, pulled free a pillow, and then set out to sleep on the couch. The pillow smelled faintly of her.

Her mother had called him later that night. She didn't seem frazzled by the news. Instead, she quietly mentioned that Katniss always seemed to be running off unattended and that she'd find her way back somehow.

Peeta wasn't comforted.

The lack of concern she'd shown was appalling and he could feel how withdrawn from Katniss' life Mrs Everdeen had become. Her daughter's death must have taken so much from her.

Peeta didn't understand why she wasn't trying to save the one that might be dying right now. No, she wasn't dying. She just wasn't with him.

His heart pounded. He missed her. His breath hitched as he sobbed.

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The cold dawn morning broke in the window that Peeta was watching out of. He had merely napped and then spent the long early morning hours sitting and waiting for her to emerge from the edge of the forest.

It was like he was drawn there, like he knew she was in there but he couldn't get to her. He didn't know the land, he didn't know the paths. And even if he did, what if she didn't want him to find her?

He hadn't even considered that.

Shaking his head he donned his jacket and boots and left the house. He considered going home to shower but knew it was only a waste of time.

Instead, he veered off towards the remaining Seam homes. Gale, after his inquisition and confirmation that it wasn't a joke, had already started to pack a bag to come help with the search. Peeta had asked him if there was anyone that he knew of still in town who might know where to look and he had replied simply.

Thom.

The guy didn't trust him, Peeta knew. He didn't have any reason to being that he was now the crazy old Victor who hurt innocent people. It would be hard to ask him to go into the woods with him alone. But he knew Haymitch would only be a hindrance.

He had to be convincing.

When he turned the corner onto the street Gale had mentioned Peeta froze. Thom was already outside, waiting at the tiny grey padlock in front of his home.

He was at once glad for Gale who must have somehow reached him.

"You can thank Gale," he said, seeing the words forming on Peeta's lips. Peeta nodded and they immediately began heading for the forest.

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It was lighter than Peeta had imagined. The forest had always been a subject of terror within the Merchant kids groups. They'd dared each other and chickened out and lied about who went the farthest.

But now that he was here, in its depths, Peeta understood the solace of it all.

The other day he hadn't thought Katniss had been back to the forest since the Games but she must have been he realized when Thom mentioned the snares having been recently cleaned. Apparently Gale had shown him his trap trail when he was last in town and Thom had taken it on while his family got settled. He hadn't been out since his daughter had gotten sick a few weeks ago.

Peeta had stared after him in awe. Thom was barely two years older than him and he already had a child. It was something Peeta had wanted. But after the Games, after the Quell, after the Capitol... He had known it wasn't something he'd ever be able to have. He would just ruin it like everything else he loved.

His mind raced as he remembered so strongly the feeling of love that he had had for Katniss. It made his bones ache. For once the thought overcame all of the fear and the hatred that the Capitol had forced into his mind. It was like a breath of fresh air.

His pause had made him fall behind, he noticed after looking up to find Thom drifting in between trees in the distance. He struggled to catch up, not willing to get lost in case they found her.

It was late afternoon by the time Thom made the decision to turn around. Peeta had argued and begged for just another hour but he wouldn't budge.

At least the man knew when to call it quits. They breached the forest wall empty handed as they came out into the darkening night sky.

His hope was slowly falling. Maybe she had finally run.

He sat on her porch swing alone, staring into the trees, as he imagined her living out her days in the loneliness of the forest. He imagined how cold she must be as the temperature dropped. He imagined the nightmares he knew would be shaking her awake.

It made everything hurt. He wished she was here. He wished he'd never pushed her away.

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The rain didn't help, he thought, as Thom lead him again through the forest the next day. Peeta knew Gale would be in on the train that afternoon and it was strangely comforting to think. Even though Gale was most likely to run him through with a spear, at least he'd find her. He knew her too well, he knew the trees too well, not to.

It was his last hope.

He'd talked to Haymitch before heading out that morning. Haymitch, who was stone cold sober, had been up all night it looked, the floors tidied and the bottles all placed out in a bin on the porch. He'd mentioned that they were going out to the forest again, despite the rain, to try to find her.

Peeta knew Haymitch was worried, though he'd never show it frankly. He'd simply nodded his approval and continued sorting through papers.

"We'll find her Haymitch. She's a survivor." He had looked up then, holding a piece of paper as his hand shook from the lack of alcohol.

"She's already survived Peeta, she might have just made a different choice this time," Peeta recoiled internally at his old Mentor's words. Haymitch handed him the sheet of paper he'd been holding and Peeta read it to himself:

"_Mrs Mellark (Everdeen) often displays suicidal tendencies. When left unattended she has been known to enjoy fits of terror, resulting in attempts upon her life. These efforts have often been subdued through chemical injections, though it seems the mindset persists. _

_She has shown some improvement as a result of a constant or a routine. _

_Her pattern of behaviour suggests a willingness to die for her beliefs and therefore suggests a strong correlation between the assassination of President Coin and these attempts on her own life. _

_Without constant monitoring her current state could become fatal. _

_This analysis is presented based on the opinions of Doctor Aurelius."_

Peeta dropped the paper to the table.

"And you didn't think this was worth mentioning?" His voice was agonized. Haymitch looked at the floor.

"She was better once she was released. That case was made while she was in the Capitol's prison. I didn't think you needed to know."

"_I_ needed to know, if I was the _only_ one to know!" Peeta shouted. "You saw what I did to her! You saw that she forgave me! Did that not even _once_ set off an alarm to you? Maybe she wanted _me_ to kill her! Maybe she finally did it herself because she knew I couldn't!" He was raging. He was going incoherent.

Haymitch met his dilated eyes carefully.

"You were making her better Peeta. Not the first time, not even close, but when she stood up and moved herself back home, that was her. That was her choosing to live. But I don't know what happened since and I don't know what happened when she came here that day. All I know is this piece of paper could be a reality. And you need to be prepared."

Peeta shook his head, unwilling to believe it. He spun himself around and pushed towards the Seam.

They would find her. They had to.


	10. Chapter 10

Peeta smelt it in the air before he saw it, the billowing cloud of smoke drifting through the trees. Thom hadn't noticed as he'd plundered on further in the trees. But Peeta saw it. Saw the air thick with the smoke and his heart ached.

She was here.

He knew it. He could feel it coursing through him like a freight train. He spun on his heel and headed towards it, shouting for Thom but not truly caring if he followed or not. She was there.

He headed downwards to where it seemed to be growing from. Through the trees he could see the sunlight glinting ahead. Water? He hadn't even considered water being in this forest apart from the streams and the creeks he'd been splashing through.

The dense moist air hung around him as the rain petered out. He kept walking towards the glinting lake.

And then he was there; his vision snapping back and forth, side to side. To the right of him were more dense trees. To the left, a broken down cottage.

A cottage with a chimney of smoke drifting upwards and being pushed through the trees.

Peeta took off towards it, his heart pumping too slowly to keep up with his mind. She was there, she was there! Faintly, he heard footsteps behind him but Peeta didn't care. He stumbled on a fallen tree stump and crashed into the edge of the lake. Pulling himself quickly back to his feet, his clothes dripping with mud, he was off again as his bones ringed from the impact. He didn't care. She was there.

His name snapped across the forest as Thom breached the tree line. He didn't turn around.

His palm's itched as he pushed on the door and swung it open.

Peeta was met with the tip of an arrow at his chest, the bow poised to shoot. His mind reeled, his eyes went dark and his heart skipped a beat. Or two.

"Katniss," her name was like a whisper floating around them as they both stood still, tension strung like the bow in her hands. Her hair was mangled in her braid and her face was grimy. She looked ragged and her eyes were hollow. She was beautiful. His breath returned as he lifted a hand towards her.

"What are you doing here?"

That hadn't been what he'd expected. It should have been, but he'd just thought... No, he didn't have a right to make an assumption. Peeta could hear the footsteps crashing behind him and another familiar voice rose up in the distance. Gale hadn't wasted any time in tracking them.

"I thought you were...I... Katniss," his eyes pleaded. He didn't have any right to her forgiveness but he sought it anyways. She still held the bow to his chest. He wished she'd let the arrow fly.

She looked down and in that moment, Peeta saw the hesitation and he put his hand on the bow forcing it to the floor. She didn't resist as her hands let it drop and he pulled at her fiercely, his arms wrapping her up so tight. He wouldn't let go. He couldn't let go.

His face settled into the crook of her neck as he gasped for air against her. Her body shook gently and they slumped to the floor. He clutched at her and she crawled into him closer.

Thom appeared at the doorway and breathed out a heavy sigh, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. He must have run around the lake. Thom turned away from the sight and began walking out from the cottage again as Peeta heard him call out to Gale who was somewhere still in the forest.

They remained there for a moment, holding to one another as though they would be ripped apart at any moment.

Peeta's mind raced with all of the stories that his imagination had created in the time that she was gone. There were no shiny edges to these thoughts, no Capitol hint of hatred. He crushed them and filled the emptiness with memories of her. The good memories that he could remember. Her red dress. Her singing voice. Her pigtails when they were younger. His arms tightened around her again and he realized they were both crying.

In the background he could hear deep voices talking in the distance. Peeta heard the quiet footsteps approach but he ignored them. He couldn't let go just yet.

And then he wasn't alone holding her. Solid arms wrapped around them both as Gale sat with them. They were a ball of mashed limbs and Peeta had never known relief like this.

"Oh God, Catnip. Do you even realize?" Gale was muttering as they all held together. "Do you know how worried we were?" He continues on his answerless questions. Peeta doesn't need to chime in, it's like his thoughts are mirrored. His appreciation for this man, his rival, soars. If he were to die right now he knows she would continue on because she would have Gale.

Minutes pass as they settle into silence. Gale pulls back and Peeta can see the red rim in his eyes that speak of sorrow and tears. Peeta leans back as well but keeps Katniss' hand in his – he won't let her go. Not yet. He only just found her again.

Peeta knows he's found not only her physically, but what he'd seen in her before. For the first time since the Quell he isn't drowning in black.

Katniss looks between the two men in front of her and she smiles sadly. What was she thinking?

"Catnip, why?" It's such a simple request but Gale's voice chokes on the words. Peeta watches her carefully as her hand tenses in his. She lifts her face and he can see her broken mind struggling to piece it together.

"I don't know; I just wanted to live in the woods. My Dad and I used to come out here all the time to swim and scavenge. I guess I just wanted to be somewhere where I was loved." Peeta's heart breaks inside. He made her feel unloved, abandoned.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," Peeta whispered. Gale stared at him intently; Peeta could see his mind racing to figure out whether it had happened again. Whether he had reason to kill him.

"You told me to never come back, Peeta. And you Gale," she said, raising her voice slightly, "You left on the train and never said goodbye!" She was shaking again. Both men looked at the floor guiltily.

"I did Katniss, I did say goodbye. You just weren't able to hear me." Peeta knew it was true.

She looked at the floor. It was such a tangled web and the tension was growing.

"Haymitch is worried sober," it's the only thing he can think of to lighten the mood. Katniss meets his eyes.

"He's never sober."

"He is when he thinks you've gone and gotten yourself lost in the woods, love," he mutters the endearment before he realizes he's said it. Gale clears his throat and looks around awkwardly.

"Well maybe if he hadn't been such an ass."

Peeta uses the moment of quiet to look around the small wooden shelter. The hearth of the fire is stoked and there's a small pot of boiling water and a spit of squirrel. She'd been surviving just fine despite how ragged she looked. She probably wasn't sleeping well, he thought, as his eyes glanced at the small sleeping bag near the fire. It would be too cold soon to stay out here in only that. He needed her to come home. He'd drag her if he had to. Gale would probably help.

"Will you come back with me? With us?" Peeta corrected, he could see the fading light shining through the single window and knew they'd have to leave soon. She met his gaze and frowned.

"Katniss, Mom brought the kids, they want to see you." _There_, Peeta knew, the ultimate weapon. Gale had really pulled out all the stops. He'd brought _family_.

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The hike out wasn't nearly as daunting as the hike in, Peeta thought. He'd trailed slightly behind Katniss and Gale as they'd moved towards town, letting them talk quietly ahead of him. He didn't have it in him to be jealous – he knew Gale was the better man in this scenario.

When they reached the edge of the forest Peeta saw all the lights on in her house, could feel the radiating energy. He looked towards his dark windows and knew it was the story of his life. They gravitated towards the light before Peeta broke off without them noticing as he began heading towards Haymitch's cluttered yard.

He didn't bother knocking, instead entering and calling out. Haymitch returned the call from his couch not even bothering to get up.

"We found her Haymitch, she was living in this old broken down cabin that she used to go to with her father," Haymitch met his eyes as he said it, gauging his mood.

"Where is our Mockingjay now? Did she choose the forest creatures over you?" His words cut.

"She's with Gale and his family. He came to help find her."

"Oh," he nodded. Peeta dropped down into the chair across the room, his body aching from the days of searching. They sat in silence for a while recognizing that neither of them had been enough to fill Katniss' familial void.

"She chose to keep living, Haymitch. She really did." It was all he could say to comfort them. Haymitch nodded and got up to search for a bottle in the kitchen. Peeta frowned. It was as though not much had really changed. He got up to return to his home and go to sleep – something he'd been dearly lacking over the past few days.

She was there already, waiting for him. He didn't know what it meant when she wrapped him in an embrace so tight that he could barely breathe. His heart stuttered and slowly his arms returned the favour.

"I didn't want to go but you said you didn't want me," her voice was broken. This Katniss was not the scowling girl from before the Games. She was the returning Victor, the Mockingjay, the broken girl who was too strong to die.

"I just wanted to stop hurting you. All I could see was that I was hurting you, or remembering how I wanted to hurt you. When you disappeared... I haven't had a relapse in days. All I could think about was you and how I didn't want you to go, not really." He held her closer and pressed a kiss to her neck. Their bodies were pressed together so tightly that they could feel each other's heartbeats.

Peeta pulled back slightly and met her eyes, noticing that her cheeks were stained with tears. He lowered his lips and kissed them away. There was no blackness threatening him now. She smiled sadly up at him.

"I need you so much Peeta. I won't live without you."

They were quiet for a while, holding and comforting, neither of them wanting to speak the words that would bind them.

Soon, too soon, Katniss let go and placed her palm on his cheek. "I need to get back. I promised Posy I'd play a game before bedtime. Do you want to come?" He hesitated, unsure of how much Hazelle knew and how comfortable Gale would be with him around his siblings, knowing what he'd done.

"If Gale doesn't mind, I'd like that very much." Katniss grinned.

"He will mind, but it's my house." She pulled his hand and they made their way next door.

Hazelle met them in the kitchen and looked Peeta over with a knowing stare. Peeta frowned and looked at the ground - guilty. He wasn't expecting the hug or the kind words that she whispered in his hear, "Thank you for bringing her home."

It wasn't an accusation at all. She let go and stepped back as Gale sauntered in. Seeing Peeta his grin faltered but he didn't say anything. His eyes lowered to his and Katniss' clasped hands and his frown deepened.

"We're in the front room. Posy has the whole game setup. She wants it to be girls against boys," he said motioning them through the kitchen, Peeta and Katniss followed.

A new kind of Game was on.


	11. Chapter 11

It was the best night Peeta had experienced in... He couldn't even remember. His childhood had often been spotted by fits of anger and violence – he'd never had the almost carefree play of the Hawthorne kids. It was wonderful. It made him ache for his own family despite their faults.

They'd played three rounds of Posy's newly invented game, each time the rules becoming more difficult and Posy-success-centered. Smiles and laughter were plentiful as everyone seemed to forget the tragedy that they'd faced. Sure, there were moments where Posy would almost mention Prim, _Prim_, and the room would pause. Multiple times it had caused Rory and Katniss to shift in their seats and grit their teeth in pain.

Peeta had watched carefully, ready to help if he could. He'd found, in this short time of exposure with this family, that Katniss belonged here. She deserved this laughter and happiness that they all radiated.

He'd have to think about that long and hard before he expressed his own feelings. He didn't want her to feel as though she had to stay. Maybe she could move to District 2 with them – be part of a family again. He wouldn't ask her to give up that opportunity.

At some point, as the games rounded down and Peeta sat against the couch, Posy had rested up against his side and begun to sleep. It was almost too much. He wanted too badly to have this life, to have a child of his own. Slowly, he placed his arm around the sleeping child and held her close as she curled in tighter. When he looked up his eyes met Katniss' who was watching, her head tilted slightly.

"Alright boys, it's time for bed," Hazelle called. The boys grumbled but relented and raced upstairs to one of the spare rooms. Gale had moved to reach for Posy, mumbling a small 'thanks' towards Peeta as he went.

Katniss watched as the room emptied and then scooted over to the spot where Posy had just been removed from. She lifted Peeta's arm and placed it around her, pulling her body in close. Peeta breathed in the scent of her hair and smiled. He was doing so much of that tonight.

"That was fun," he said. She nodded into his chest. It was a small moment of comfort, her resting there, the quiet of the evening surrounding them. It seemed so normal that Peeta didn't want to let it go.

They heard the footsteps coming down the stairs and Peeta shifted to stand.

"I guess it's time for me to get home too. I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked. He knew it was too soon for their routine from before to start again – maybe it would be best if it never returned.

Her gaze met his and she nodded, "Yes, come for brunch. We might get in a hunt before if Gale let's me near the forest again." She paused. "Did you talk to Haymitch? Should I go over there?"

"Yeah, I talked to him. He was so relieved he picked up the bottle again," Peeta shook his head in disgust. Katniss nodded. "You should see him sometime tomorrow; he'd probably appreciate a nice wake up call." Peeta turned to leave as Gale re-entered the room.

"Thank you," Gale said, seeing Peeta head for the door. Peeta met his gaze and nodded, a silent passing of appreciation between the two as he left for home.

While he walked the short distance between his home and Katniss' he considered his current state. He hadn't relapsed. He hadn't even had a flashback. Something had changed. He hoped it stuck.

His house was eerily quiet compared to the backdrop of Katniss' for the last few hours. He felt the dark encompassing him but for once it didn't smother. He made his way blindly through the kitchen and then upstairs to his room, not hitting anything on his way. Stripping down to his boxers he flopped onto his bed, exhausted.

He wouldn't have dreams that night.

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Startled, he awoke to feel the cold hands resting against his bare chest as she curled up next to him. For once, he didn't feel threatened. He felt cherished. His mind was foggy with sleep as she planted a small kiss on his shoulder. He placed his lips on her forehead and wrapped a leg and an arm around her, trapping her next to him.

He didn't want to let her go. Ever.

His breath evened out again and he drifted back into sleep.

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He awoke at dawn to an empty bed. Had it all been a dream? He hoped not. But the place where she'd laid was cold like the morning air. He pulled in a breath and rolled to his feet, deciding to make cinnamon buns for brunch.

The smell spread through his house and coated his skin as he pulled them free of the oven. It was delicious. When the sun broached the mid-morning sky he wrapped them carefully in paper and set off with the buns and some icing, walking into chaos.

The kids had been let loose in the house and were playing a mad dash of manhunt through the kitchen as Hazelle boiled some eggs and Gale sat at the table.

Peeta nodded in greeting and offered up the cinnamon buns to Hazelle who grinned broadly and pulled down a plate and a knife for him to spread the icing with. He turned to sit across from Gale who was nursing a cup of coffee.

His mind flitted to where Katniss was when he heard the scream. His body tensed. Gale watched him like a hawk. When he heard the giggles and Katniss squeal for the tickles to stop he couldn't help but laugh out loud – the thought of Katniss playing tickle monster was beyond him.

"How was the hunt?" Peeta asked as he spread on a thick layer of sugar.

"Fine, we didn't catch much just a turkey and a few squirrel – did you want them? We'll be heading out this evening and can't take them on the train." Peeta looked at him, surprised they were leaving so soon.

"You're leaving already? What about Katniss?" Hazelle cleared her throat behind him and then left the room. Obviously she didn't want to be involved in this conversation.

"She'll be fine, Peeta. You've seen the improvements she made. Besides, now you know her hiding spot you can go get her anytime she disappears again. She doesn't need us here, cluttering up her house."

"But you're her family. You can see how happy she is with you!" Gale snorted. Peeta was getting desperate – what if she wasn't happy again after they left? "What if she went with you?"

Gale paused, his mouth opening slowly but no words forming.

"She could go with you to District 2. You would be good for her-" Peeta couldn't believe he was doing this, couldn't believe he was giving her up "- she needs this!"

"She needs _you,_ Peeta. Or do you still not get that she's actually there, with you, on how you feel about each other? _You_ make her happy. _You_ helped her come home. She'd never come with us." Peeta could see how difficult the words were for Gale. It made it all the more painfully true.

"I just don't want to hurt her again." The words were simple.

"You won't. Or I'll have to get my ass on that damned train again and come kill you myself."

Before he could respond the rest of the Hawthorne clan was piling into the kitchen, foaming at the mouth for the delicious breakfast pastries.

Katniss slinked in last and placed a hand on his shoulder as she sat down to eat. It was a comforting move, as though she could sense the tension that had been broken a moment earlier. He smiled and reached for some toast and ate, enjoying the noise around the table.

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It was evening before he saw her again, having known she would want a private goodbye at the train station. She hadn't even gone home in between, he knew, because he'd heard the whistle of departure and felt her presence in his kitchen not soon after.

He'd turned from his baking, seen her tears, and reached to wrap her in a strong embrace. He'd spent the whole time picturing her getting on the train and not coming back to him. It had been a long afternoon. They'd held each other until she'd calmed and he had returned to his cookie prep, offering to let her help. She'd declined, citing a tragic baking accident in which she'd burnt everything.

He'd smiled, adding baking onto his checklist of things they could rediscover together.

When the cookies were complete and the kitchen was clean they retired to the couch in his front room. The book that they had started lay unfinished on the table in front of them.

Peeta couldn't face it tonight.

Instead, he turned to her and was stunned to find her lips on his. It wasn't as gentle as it had been before. It was frantic. Peeta pulled back and placed his hands against her cheeks, his thumbs running along her cheekbones.

"I love you, Katniss." He'd said it. It was the first time in so long. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his.

"I know," It wasn't enough, but Peeta knew it was hard.

They sat in silence for a while, gently running their fingers along each other's arms and hands. It was exploratory. It was foreign. He liked it.

"Peeta? Can I ask you something?" Peeta halted his movement along her collarbone and looked into her grey eyes.

"Anything."

"Why... What happened with the black?" She didn't have to say anymore, Peeta knew what she was asking. It had been all consuming for them both.

"I don't really know. It might be temporary. It stopped for a while when I was in the Capitol as well. I think that I realized that I couldn't live without you when you were gone," he paused, remembering. "I mean, I feel like maybe I was so focused on finding you that I remembered all of the things I loved about you and they just kind of, trumped the black?"

"Oh," she responded. He wasn't sure if she needed more from him. "I'm sorry I disappeared. But I'm not sorry that it helped you, I don't know if that's a good thing." Peeta nodded slowly as his mind mulled whether to ask his next question.

"I read something Haymitch showed me while you were gone," he knew he was about to infiltrate her privacy and he wasn't sure if he should. He had to know. "It was from Dr Aurelius. It said... It mentioned that you were trying to hurt yourself a lot." His tongue flopped on the words in his mouth. She tensed next to him and he prepared for her to sink away.

"I did. I was almost successful a few times." It was a quiet confession.

"Do you still..." He let the question hang in the air.

"Not as much. Sometimes when I'm alone I think how easy it would be, especially here, where nobody would really notice, but then I just... I come back and it's not as bad anymore."

"I'd notice." His throat closed at the words. She nodded into his chest, continuing.

"Sometimes it's like your black; it just takes over. They gave me pills but I don't like them. They stop me from feeling human." Peeta knew, he had his own set of abandoned medicine upstairs.

"Katniss," his voice was tight as his eyes met hers, "Just... Can we try to be okay?" He was going to ask her not to leave, but he couldn't ask that of her. It would trap her. She didn't respond, instead choosing to wrap herself up on his lap.

Peeta could live with that. He leaned down and his lips met hers again. It was different this time, slower. He moved to his feet and pulled her hand with him, she followed easily as they made their way upstairs.

It wasn't unfamiliar, he thought, pulling her into his room and closing the door. It was almost as though they were on the train again, hurtling towards another District. But they were older now, more broken, and less willing to hide.

He stepped to her and pulled her tight against him, his hands running along her spine and under the back of her shirt. She smelled like forest and fresh air and soap. His left hand reached to pull her hair loose as he pressed his lips to hers.

She stalled below his touch, unsure. Peeta tried not to flinch at the small rejection and kept his body flush against her.

"Tell me to stop and I will," his words were strained against her lips. He would. He would. He wished he wouldn't have to.

She answered by meeting his mouth with hers and running her small fingers up his chest, flipping buttons off as she went. It was a yes. Peeta's heart raced.

This had been what he'd wanted for so long. What he had almost damned himself with so recently. He wrestled internally with his own self-loathing and with the need he felt. He wanted to convince her to never leave with the only thing he had left to truly offer her. She had to see how much he loved her, see the difference between the black and him. He needed to convince himself that the black didn't own him. That he could still love despite it lurking in his mind.

They stumbled their way backwards towards the bed as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he pulled her arms free of hers. She fell back with her legs over the edge as he leaned forward over her, still standing. It was easier for his leg. His lips traced the line of her jaw and sank downwards into the curve of her neck, tasting and probing for more. He knew it was right by the soft sounds in the dark.

Her hand skittered around his chest as it chased the lines of his scars. As his mouth lowered to her exposed chest he saw the mirror of the burns in her skin. His heartbeat skipped with the memory of the fire. He ran his lips across her breasts and pulled one into his mouth. It was sweet and perfect as she lifted to meet him. He needed to show her how she was loved here. That she didn't need to live in that cabin to be somewhere she was loved.

He felt her hands resting on his shoulders as he held still above her, watching. Slowly, as though facing a dangerous animal, she lowered her hand to the front of his pants. He was hard waiting for her touch. He sucked in a breath and moved his hips gently forward into her hand. Her other hand pulled him down to her for another kiss as she began to fiddle with his belt. Once released, she managed to pull his pants and underwear free with her feet, exposing him fully. He felt her nails along his legs and he pushed forward, rubbing himself against the juncture of her thighs. He groaned into her mouth.

"Peeta, Peeta," his name was like a chant on her lips as he pushed against the barrier blocking them. Her hand found him then and gripped, slowly moving along his length. He held his breath; it was all he could do to keep himself together. He needed to keep it together.

He pulled her hand free and she frowned up at him. "Too good," he whispered and returned the favour by placing his hand over her pants. He rubbed her and slid his tongue along her teeth. She was huffing as he reached for her waistband and stepped back, pulling it with him. He looked over her as the moonlight reflected through the window.

"_Katniss_," It was a promise. He stepped forward again and pressed his fingers into where she burned for him. She writhed under his motion and he could see her fingers gripping the sheets. He leaned down to kiss her, slowly, so slowly. "Tell me to stop if-" he didn't even get the sentence out before she pulled him to her again.

Her body was reacting to him fiercely. Her breath was puffing out and her noises were strained. He stilled his movements in her and ran a hand up to her breast, cupping it gently. He slowly returned his movements with a controlled pace, watching as she felt the wave rising within her. Her eyes were shut tightly as it closed in on her breaking point and he whispered quietly, "Open your eyes, love."

She did.

His gaze met hers as she rode out the wave. He could feel her pulsing around his fingers and then he slowly slipped into her. It was a strange mixture of pain and pleasure that he saw cast upon her features. He knew she was taking time to adjust. He held his body still, only moving his fingers along where their bodies connected.

She breathed out and he watched her intently. She was beautiful. When she finally reached for him he pressed his lips to her collar bone and began a steady thrusting pace. She wrapped her legs around his and he put his knees flush against the side of the bed, pulling her to the edge to go deeper.

He didn't have much control left. His mind began racing with all the things he wanted to say. His mouth began moving and the words tumbled out uncensored. As his pace quickened he pressed his face into her hair.

"Katniss, _Katniss_. So beautiful. So strong, Katniss..." He could feel it building inside him, felt his body pulling taunt as she held him tightly. He pulsed into her and finally let go, her name on his lips.

Her arms wrapped around him and she pulled him forward, shifting them, still coupled, further onto the bed. She was so warm in his arms. He never wanted to let go. He couldn't. The tears he'd held back threatened to spill over as he gently placed kisses across her skin.

"My Peeta..." She whispered, her fingers running through his hair. Her breath was returning to normal and he could feel his body relaxing from the rush. He pulled her closer, wanting to pull her into him. He could feel himself drifting off to sleep as she pulled the blanket over them, still joined, not willing to part. She was rubbing her hands along his back, soothing him to sleep.

It was too much. It was too good. He let go of the few tears he'd been holding in as he drifted in and out of consciousness. She needed to stay. He needed her to be alright.

He wasn't sure if he'd slip into the realm of dreaming when he heard her whisper, "My heart is yours, my strong Peeta." He wanted so badly for it to be real and not shiny.


	12. Chapter 12

He wanted it to be real. Needed it to be real.

It was all he could think of as he was pulled out of sleep, his hands reaching on the empty bed. Maybe it had all been a dream. It couldn't have been.

It was too soon, too rushed. He had known it then and he saw it all too clearly in the light drifting through his window. It wasn't regret – he'd have done it all the same – he just wished he could move it down their timeline. They still had so much work to do on themselves, together, and he'd gone and rushed and... If that all was even real.

He felt alone again in his thoughts. He needed to know. But she wasn't there, like she usually wasn't there, in the bright light of day. It was almost as if she didn't want to admit it herself. He hated where his thoughts had taken him so quickly. It was barely dawn and he was already travelling a path he didn't want to go down.

He opened his eyes and looked around the room. His mind was foggy as he saw his clothes crumpled in a ball beside the bed. He didn't feel like moving today. He had to.

Pushing his way loose from the sheets he stumbled into the shower, ridding himself of the cobwebs from the night.

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The sun was hanging low in the sky as he prepped dinner in his kitchen. She still hadn't come back from wherever she'd gone. His mood was dark, having been distracted with concern as he burnt the loaves of bread he'd been preparing earlier. It was as though she could haunt him without actually being dead.

He looked at the single clock in his house, 19.40. Where _was_ she?

When she didn't come in for dinner, he wrapped a plate for her and left it on the counter, moving upstairs to his painting room. His time spent here always seemed to blend together as the hours past with a brush in his hand.

Grabbing his charcoal and sketch pad, he sat back against the wall on the mattress and began sketching the cabin in the woods. The charcoal made it appear darker and more ominous. Or maybe that was him. He ripped the page free and began sketching out his memory of Katniss with her hair spread out on the pillow.

He couldn't face it.

Ripping it free he tossed the pad aside and stood to pace.

His mind raced with each step. Maybe she'd run after last night. Maybe it hadn't happened at all. Maybe she'd left with Gale and his family, off to District 2, and he'd imagined everything.

That thought made his heart clench in agony and his breath ran out. As the tears came he fell to his knees on the floor.

It was too much. It was like he'd backfired against the black and the anger and the hate and had ended here, with finding her, finding his love again. And now it was threatening him, smothering. He was caught in a vicious cycle of hating and loving.

He crawled onto the mattress and pulled the quilt that was stuffed into the corner around his shoulders. He was exhausted. It was dark out. It was acceptable to sleep. And so he did.

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Peeta woke with a start. It wasn't his typical suffocating terror that he felt but the small frame of a girl beside him, shaking slightly. She'd come back. She was cold and her skin was damp. Where had she been?

He watched her face, scrunched tight, across from his as his fingers traced her skin.

"Katniss?" He called. He thought she was awake but she didn't open her eyes. When had she gotten here? In his mind he could feel the black slink out and he slammed it back down – he wasn't playing that game. "Katniss, where's Katniss?" His voice was almost sing-song as he shifted to hold her closer.

Her body shook in his arms. She was so cold. He heard the gentle rain prattling on his rooftop. She must have been outside recently. _Obviously_, his mind scolded. He didn't know how to wake her from this silent nightmare – the only thing he could do was be there when she woke.

When the sky lightened outside it was as though an alarm clock had gone off within her. She had stopped shivering as her clothes had dried and then she had seemed to settle into a more peaceful sleep. He'd watched her all night and now he was tired and sour. His mood was dark and he was struggling to make sense of everything.

Later when she moved to pull herself free of his vice grip around her he didn't let go. She screamed, a short burst of anger and fear, when she realized she was trapped. Peeta released her and scuttled back, a shiny memory popping behind his eyes before he could stop it. It was gone again, so quick, as he focused on her kneeling on her hands and knees in front of him.

"Katniss?" It was a question to judge the room, to see the mood. He didn't know what to expect from her and the uncertainty was returning an anxiety to his bones. He could see her back rise slightly with the starving gasps she was taking as she came back.

"Peeta, I'm sorry, I was caught in a tree and then it was raining and it was like the storm in the arena and then I got lost in time and I..." She held up her scraped palms and he gripped his hands together. She was explaining something but the context was unclear. He was so confused. He _hated_ being confused.

"Stop! _Fucking stop_." His hands gripped the sides of his head, covering his ears. He wasn't drowning in the black but his mind was racing with clear and shiny memories. He just needed to catch his breath. She stopped talking but remained kneeling.

They were both too broken right now, as though the happiness that had been so close was a distant memory. But at least now, he thought, at least now they were repairing together. He wasn't bruising her skin. He wasn't tearing her apart. He was coming back to an even level.

When he opened his eyes she was sitting on the end of the mattress, staring at him. Her hair was wild and her hunting outfit was rumpled and torn. His hands ached for her to be closer as he lowered them to his lap.

"What happened the other night?" He wanted to know what was real. Needed to know.

"We..." She paused. Could she even say the words? "We had sex." It sounded so plain to him. Sounded technical on her lips. He nodded, taking her answer.

"I'm sorry about that," And he was. It had been too soon, he realized. Her gaze never shifted from his.

"I'm not." It was simple. He felt a weight lift from him that he hadn't realized had been there.

"Where were you?" He wanted to ask her more about their night but he couldn't bring himself to do it. They'd save it for another time when their wounds weren't so open. When he wasn't so close to letting the floodgates of black open.

"I went for a hunt. And then I lost some time when I was in a tree. It started to rain. When I tried to get down to come home my hands slipped and that how I got these." She held up her hands to him and instinctually he grabbed for them. She stuffed them back into her lap, keeping her distance.

"What do you mean you lost time?" He'd shifted forward with the effort of reaching for her. She looked to the doorway; he could see her calculating the escape. "Katniss, please," it was a plea.

"Sometimes I just disappear. Remember how I said sometimes it gets to be too much? I saw yellow finch birds and I remembered how much she loved yellow." She wrapped her arms tight around herself. Peeta didn't need to ask who loved yellow.

"I'm sorry you were alone," he whispered. He somehow felt guilty for all of her suffering. The black was pooling at the base of his skull. He reached out for her again and let his hand hang in the air. Slowly, she inched towards him and then all at once she was there, in his lap, crawling into his chest.

"Stop being sorry." She mumbled into his chest. He held her close and focused on breathing down the black as it closed in.

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She didn't go hunting that day. She didn't go for the rest of the week.

They spent most of their days sitting together on the porch with the fall weather rolling in. They'd talk about the small things mostly, different techniques of bread, how to tie a slip knot in a snare line.

When they restarted work on the book their conversations changed to memories and things that they couldn't say out loud to anyone else. It was harder than they both had imagined it would be.

After a particularly difficult night he could feel a fit coming on and he went to the basement. It wasn't the first time he'd been overtaken by the black again, but it wasn't as bad as before. The walls were colder in the basement than it was in the summer months. Katniss had sat with her back to the staircase door, rope fiddling in her hands. It had lasted all night.

When Peeta emerged, they spent the day tangled in the sheets of the bed. They hadn't again made love and he was okay with that. He really hadn't been ready before. He didn't ask Katniss about it.

After dinner, she pushed the book again. He stared at it, blaming it for all of his relapses. Why did it have to be so hard?

"It's good to remember, Peeta. We have to or else...Or it wasn't worth it." Peeta knows this but still isn't convinced. He doesn't want to be filled with black and spend his night raging against cement blocks. Why doesn't she know this? His shackles are raised in defence as he looks at her. She's not paying attention as she begins work on a page about Finnick Odair.

He slips to his feet and escapes upstairs to his room, grabbing the bottle of medicine he had nearly forgotten, from his bedside table drawer.

She's followed him in a flash and see's him as he clutches the bottle.

"You can take it. But it won't stop it. It won't make it better. You'll just feel more trapped. It's not a magic cure."

Her words are sharp and he knows they're true. He hates her and her honesty.

"Peeta, we can do this. Just stay with me, here," she points to her head and Peeta nods. He needs her. He loves her.

"Always," his voice whispers out. He remembers a time when this conversation happened before. He wants so bad to go back in time. She grabs his hand and leads him back downstairs to the book.


	13. Chapter 13

Haymitch was in a foul mood, Peeta could tell. It didn't take much to see that as he wielded a stick around at his geese in the yard. Peeta was watching quietly from the window of his painting room, spying.

He'd spent the morning bathed in the cloudy light drifting through his windows as he lay on his broken mattress. It had turned into his thinking spot, where he went to find out what was real. He had noticed after a few weeks of painting his dreams that the ones that were fake were more vivid than the others. Before he'd only considered them "shiny" and more "Capitol" – but now, now with affirmation from Katniss that some of the images were so jaded and confused, he'd known had no choice but to start testing out what was real and what wasn't.

He'd painted for hours every thought that came into his mind, every thought that threatened to bring the black back with such a force that he would sometimes put his hand through the canvas.

It was exhausting. It was purging.

Finally today, when the image he'd been working on was complete on the solid canvas ahead of him, it no longer looked real. It looked constructed. And it was in that moment that Peeta was able to see for himself, without reinforcements, something that was real versus not. He'd been smothered by the black with the realization and had spent the last hour withering on the floor like a fish out of water.

He'd had to pull himself free of the tar. He'd ripped free of it instead of suffocating into submission. He had fought back.

And so he stood in the window and watched as Haymitch chased his geese in his foul mood in the yard. Almost human.

They invited Haymitch for dinner that day. Well, Peeta had invited him. Katniss still hadn't spoken to him since she'd gotten back having chosen to not bother him. When he had asked why he had been met with scowl.

"Some things just won't be resolved with a bucket of cold water," she'd replied.

Peeta hadn't pushed. He wasn't really sure if the tension was a result of Haymitch sharing her secret or of something more problematic. He had put his concern on the backburner.

It was an awkward silence that settled around the kitchen as he fiddled with the meat and she set the table. She hadn't said anything when he'd mentioned Haymitch was coming, simply nodded and then retreated for a shower after her hunt.

"So," he started, they usually had no difficulties starting a conversation. The word hung in the air, alone. He felt like he was drowning in the silence. He struggled to float, snapping out: "You know, you don't have to be here if you don't want to be."

"I know."

Peeta plated the rest of dinner in silence.

Haymitch looked semi-sober again when he opened the back door to the kitchen. He didn't bring with him the standard scent of vomit and stale alcohol – Peeta breathed a slight sigh of relief. At least they wouldn't be duking it out due to pure alcoholic rage.

"Hey Haymitch, just in time," Peeta said as he placed the plates on the table and sat down to eat. He watched as Katniss hesitated for a moment before dropping down into her chair. She was on edge. He felt his mood shifting to match hers. The anxiety was spreading.

"How're the geese?" He could keep it light. He could keep it easy. Where was their familiar banter? What was going on? He felt left out of the plan like he had been so many times in the Games. His hand curled around his fork as he lifted the salad to his lips.

"Squawking. Can't get a moment's peace," Haymitch replied around a mouthful of food. He was piling it in.

"Yeah? I saw you chasing them the other day. Must be why you're in such high spirits and looking more lovely than ever."

"Can't coop them up all day. Wild things cooped up go crazy, you know." Peeta watched as Haymitch's gaze flickered to Katniss as she lowered her fork. She hadn't even started her dinner yet. He felt the urge to hold her and brushed his knee with hers under the table. "Besides," he continued, the tension palpable, "birds are fickle things. They fly off, they come back for bread, they eat poison berries and survive, and they're just so _flighty_ you never can tell if their intentions are real."

It was sharp. It was mean. Peeta didn't blame Katniss for getting up. He still didn't understand where this was all coming from – as far as he knew, Katniss and Haymitch had been fine until before she'd gone to the cabin.

As she stomped out of the room, Peeta met Haymitch's downtrodden stare. He'd finished half his plate. He'd probably known he was only going to be welcome for a short while. He couldn't even save his words until dessert.

"What's going on?" Peeta gripped his knife, inadvertently looking more threatening than he intended. Haymitch's gaze moved from the knife to meet Peeta's. He wasn't ready for the startling noise of Katniss crashing back into the kitchen.

"You fucking son of a bitch! You pushed me away too, you old fool. You're all allowed to be broken but god _forbid_ the Great Mockingjay from feeling one moment of weakness." She was shouting hoarsely. Peeta was lost.

"You just disappeared! What if the government had found you escaped? How would that have appeared from the outside? Like he'd finally finished you off and buried your body? Like I'd let you scoot off to another District? You know better!"

"This has nothing to do with them. My life is my _choice_ now, Haymitch. What don't you understand? I can do with it how I please and if that means living it out in the forest, or ending it right now, what business of it is yours?"

"Do you truly not understand how much you matter, sweetheart? You'd tear us apart." His voice was lowering. Peeta was stunned. What the hell was happening here? "You cannot just go and off yourself anymore. You're not in their jails. You're here, with us."

"Since when have you given a shit?"

"Since the night the boy here woke me up, yelling and covered in blood, and I had to find you broken on the floor."

The silence was deadly. Nobody took a breath.

"You were finally the broken Mockingjay and you'd been destroyed by the only thing left the Capitol or Coin or anyone had to fight you with; him."

Peeta felt sick to his stomach. He'd been a catalyst in all of this. He had missed too many conversations for any of this to make sense. He slammed his fist down on the table. Both sets of eyes slid towards him as he struggled to control his anger.

"Can someone just please, for once, let me in on the master plan?" His voice was raw. Katniss retreated to the corner and sat on the floor, refusing to join them at the table again. She was leaving it up to Haymitch.

"It's the same plan we've always had, boy. Stay alive. Only she doesn't seem to want to play anymore." He pushed himself away from the table and lifted to his feet. He was pissed at her for running. It made sense, in a way, but Haymitch should know better – he knows best of all how to run from his problems. All the way down the bottle.

"Haymitch," she was quiet in the corner. He was nearly out the door when he paused, his shoulders raised with tension. "I'm not sorry for running. I came to you that night, looking for help, and you forced me out just like everyone else." He turned to look at her. His face was like an unreadable mask – the Victor's mask. He nodded and it was like a silent agreement.

Peeta watched the interaction from his seat at the table. He'd just witnessed a battle of broken souls. To anyone outside, they were truly lost to madness. He hadn't known their friendship had grown so deep – that Haymitch had started to care more than a Mentor but now was almost like a _father_. It made sense.

When Haymitch left, the house went quiet again. Peeta didn't have words and Katniss wasn't going to give any. They were raw.

He stood and reached his hand out to hers. She'd seemed to have gone somewhere else. He sighed, reaching down to pick her up. She didn't resist. This time it wasn't him that needed taking care of – he didn't know which he hated more.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Almost done! Not sure how much I like this chapter, but I felt there needed to be some resolution here.<br>_


	14. Chapter 14

The forest air was clear and bright and soothing, Peeta found, as he sat on the rock and waited for Katniss to return. She'd gone off trekking after some wild thing she'd tracked to this part of the forest. When he'd offered to join she'd scoffed and asked him to kindly wait for her to return if he wanted something good for dinner.

He'd decided to wait. He knew how terrible he was at hunting and to be completely honest with himself, he wasn't even sure why she invited him out on these excursions.

They'd slowly started easing him back into the depths of the forest as the spring air began to return the District to a fresh flower scent. Katniss had been determined to get him to realize there was nothing to fear and in that determination had made it her only goal to have him make it back to the lake. He somehow knew when he made it to the lake of his own accord – and not in a frantic search for her – she wouldn't be finished with exposing him to the outdoors.

He'd never been against being outside – quite the opposite – but he'd never really taken to the forest. Something about the fear of getting caught or the thought of getting lost had ruined his childhood curiosity.

But with Katniss his fears of the forest weren't as prominent. That promise of being safe and sound with her around was sometimes the only thing holding him together.

And so he sat on the rock and pondered the way the sun shone down through the reawakening tree branches. He considered the patterns of light and the movement of the breeze. He wanted to capture the moment.

"Peeta!" His attention was brought back down to earth and he could see Katniss waving for him through the trees. "I need your help!"

She didn't sound panicked. In fact she sounded giddy. His heart rate stayed in check as he moved to join her.

"What's up?" He asked, she motioned for him to follow and they walked a bit further into the trees.

Abruptly she turned and smiled at him, a grin so wide and so bright his excitement rose and his heart soared at the sight of her. This was a rare moment of pure joy from her. He made a note to catalogue the image for later.

"Look what I got! I haven't taken one down since... Since before!" They both knew what 'before' meant. They didn't need a reminder.

Peeta shifted his gaze to the carcass that lay on the ground behind her. He was startled at first, at the size and the odd sense of brutality that he felt. But as it dissipated he found he was impressed.

The buck was large. Its rack of antlers was wider than the length of his calf and its body would easily have stood at least a foot taller than him. He could see the perfect shot through the eye from where he stood. A sense of pride burst within him and he scooped her up, his excitement matching hers.

"You shot that!"

"I know!" Wrapped up in the moment he spun slightly and lost his balance, tumbling them both to the ground as bouts of laughter rang out in the forest. Quickly recovering she placed a short kiss on his nose and then pulled him back to his feet. "We need to get it cleaned and then take it back to the house to prep it. We can give the coat to Thom for his daughter next winter – I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

Without hesitation she moved to field-dress the body before they brought it home.

"What're we prepping it for?" Peeta asked as he watched – he wasn't much into the slaughtering part of hunting. She paused for a moment and looked up at him.

"That gathering. Remember? The whole District is coming out, I think. It'd be nice to cook up some venison for them. Sae will drool when she sees it!" Her voice remained light but Peeta could sense some tension. Tension that wasn't only hers.

He hadn't remembered the celebration marking the end of the Reapings. He'd silently hoped to himself that she would have missed it or they would have been able to ignore it.

When Sae had first mentioned it he'd all but thrown a fit. Raging about the Capitol and why they had to remember something that ended so many lives. She'd stood calmly by as he'd tossed things to the floor and then retreated to his basement as a 'jack pulled him under. It'd been the first hijack in a while and it made him bitter.

Somehow his reaction had gotten back to Katniss, he'd known, when she found him in the dark. She hadn't broached the topic until she had gotten him into bed and he'd calmed down some.

She'd known all about it. Apparently she had been trading again with the community and she'd been building up relationships with others in the Districts. He'd tried not to be put out at the knowledge of her succeeding him in the public eye. It was bound to happen.

The event was supposed to be almost like a town fair. A signifier of the returning strength of District 12 and all of its inhabitants. There would be food for everyone, games to play, and a fiddler lead band for entertainment. The idea made him nauseous. Why did they have to celebrate the Reapings?

"They're not celebrating the Reapings," she'd whispered as she'd held his pounding head in her lap, "They're remembering everyone who was lost to the Capitol. And to the war. It's like celebrating independence, in a way."

Why did she understand it but he couldn't? He'd fallen asleep knowing the nightmares were coming full-force that time. She'd been there holding him tightly until the sun came up.

"Hey, you ready to help?" Her call made his mind come back to the present as she motioned for him to grab an end. They carried it back to Peeta's house in silence.

He didn't offer his help and she didn't ask it as he retreated to his art room. He needed some time to prepare himself for the night. He knew saying 'no' wouldn't be an option.

Settling down with his paints he called the image of the tree tops and the way they moved in the breeze. His mind was distracted as he painted out the image. He tried not to think about what the day meant.

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He spent most of his afternoon painting in silence as he heard the sounds around him.

Haymitch had come over and seen the success of the hunt. Peeta could hear the claps of success and the drunken excitement below him.

When Sae had arrived it was as though the Capitol had hand delivered all of the finest delicacies to her and she'd won a lifetime supply more. Peeta hadn't joined in.

Finally, when Katniss had found him and sat on the mattress, fresh from the shower, he'd stilled his hand. The smell of clean soap and lilac's filtered in and he closed his eyes in contentment.

"I don't want to go," It was an quiet plea.

"I know. But we need to. It'll be good for us. It'll be good for them." He'd never thought he'd hear her admitting to be interested in helping _them_, the people of Panem. But then, she had been their Mockingjay for so long – it made sense.

He nodded and set down his paints. It was time to put himself together for the cameras. No, for the people. He had to convince himself it was going to be different this time.

Peeta headed for the shower with a fresh towel in hand. Katniss followed him. He didn't stop. If she wanted to play this game, he wasn't going to back down. They were more ready now than they had been before.

When he'd stripped bare and she'd stood in the doorway he'd met her gaze and winked. It was cocky, he knew it. She joined him.

It wasn't the charged scene he'd been hoping for. Instead she had lifted the soap to his back and helped him bathe, running her gentle hands along the scars that criss-crossed and faded into his skin. It was kind and it was comforting.

It was a long while before the water turned cold and they released their grip on each other to step out. Their moment of peace had finally ended and it was time to join the real world.

Peeta dressed in khakis and a buttoned down shirt, unsure of the dress requirement. When Katniss joined him downstairs in a light summer dress his breath caught.

"You look gorgeous." She grinned shyly back at him.

The mood was so incredibly different from a few months ago. It was like a weight had been lifted and they were moving forward with their lives – doing what the Capitol had tried so hard to steal from them.

They were getting their chance to live. Peeta reached out for her hand as he headed towards the door.

"We're ready for this," he whispered and held her hand tightly in his.


	15. Chapter 15

The evening sky was still light as they walked hand-in-hand to the town square. Peeta wasn't sure whether he was more nervous than Katniss or not as her fingernails pressed into his skin. He held on tightly for dear life as they approached the bustle and the crowds of the party.

It couldn't be described as anything _but_ a party.

The sight before him made him inadvertently smile.

District 12 was thriving. Never before had it seen the likes of this type of celebration, not even on the Victory Tour. People were smiling and not with the tightness of being watched but with actual enjoyment. It was surreal.

Peeta met Katniss' eyes.

"Thank you," he muttered, leaning down to kiss her quickly. She smiled back up at him and scanned the crowd. He could feel how nervous she was. He pulled her forward with him as he made his way to circle the event.

They started near the game sites and watched from a distance as children sprinted through the area. The lights in the square were blazing over the evening sky as people tossed balls into bottles and threw darts into balloons – rare items that had never in his knowledge graced District 12.

With every pop the children surrounding the booth gave a hoot of joy and called for more.

"I want to try one of them," she whispered. Peeta could barely hear her. Where was all her afternoon energy?

"Which one?" She looked up, surprised he'd heard her.

"The one with the fish." Always the hunter. They moved over towards a nearly empty station that offered the opportunity to win the goldfish if you were lucky enough to land a ring around the bowl. It was extravagant.

Katniss stepped up to the line and tossed the ring, each time missing. Her shoulders squared and she asked for another shot. The man running the booth happily obliged – Peeta knew he'd recognized them.

She tossed again, her first two missing just barely. Peeta stepped up beside her and started to visually measure. He had no idea what he was doing.

"It's about 3 yards in and 2 inches lower than the edge. Throw it at a 30 degree arc!" He looked up at her face squinted in concentration. She tossed. It landed and rotated on the jar. "Ah! Winner!" He turned and grabbed her jaw as he planted a smacking kiss on her forehead.

He was being ridiculous. It felt amazing. The man handed her the bowl with her fish and congratulated her. Peeta watched as her eyes lit up at the sight.

"I'm naming him Fin." She muttered, thanked the vendor, and walked on ahead.

They wandered further through the games section and watched as the other citizens pulled each other around to the different booths. The mood was excitable as people were winning and cheering. Peeta felt like his heart would pop from the vibe of the crowd.

"I'm hungry," Peeta growled into her ear as he stood behind her, watching a strong man challenge. He'd skipped lunch in lieu of painting and could feel his muscles clenching with the old familiar feelings of hunger. She nodded and they moved together over to the market.

It was bursting with a variety of food options. Even the Capitol couldn't compare to these offerings, Peeta thought, as he looked around. He didn't even stop to think when he saw Sae's stand.

"Hey Sae!" He was giddy with a euphoric feeling. He pulled out a stool for Katniss and then plopped down on one himself. Katniss gently placed her fishbowl down in front of her.

"Well don't you look to be in a better mood today," she replied.

"I hear there's an excellent cut of meat on that menu of yours. We came to assure the quality." Sae didn't hesitate before putting down two plates. Peeta started in immediately, watching out of the corner of his eye as Katniss picked at hers. He nudged his knuckles into her side to catch her attention.

"I thought you would be happy for this?" He motioned with an arm to the lights and noise behind them. Sae was serving other customers down the counter. Peeta turned to face her head on, resting his palms on her knees.

"I am. It's just... There are a lot of people missing, that's all." He watched her quietly as she turned to eat. He understood too well the loss as he scooted his stool as close as he could and flung his arm around her hip.

His mind flickered to how they'd become so fit to each other since his return. He knew in every fibre of his being how she was feeling because he'd felt it earlier. She'd made him come, despite his reservations, because she'd known how excited he would get with the colours and the sounds.

They could push each other and fill in the holes in their souls that they'd thought had been stolen. Slowly putting the gears of their lives back together and as they did Peeta was finding that their individual gears were fitting together as well.

As they finished their dinner they thanked Sae and continued on their meandering pace. They strolled through the depths of the marketplace. Katniss remarked how similar it had become to The Hob in its glory days. He'd never been, but he'd imagined something similar when he was a child.

The vendors were strewn down a pathway, their wares dangling from the open shutters. People were stalling here and there, pulling each other from one booth to the next. He'd held her hand tight as they were surrounded on all sides by people milling about.

It was a different kind of feeling, being in a mass of people like this, Peeta thought. He was never one for crowds.

"Can we go back and watch the music?" He leaned down to whisper. She nodded and pulled him backwards with her as she headed towards the sound of the fiddler.

They weren't surprised on their way to find Haymitch deep in conversation, albeit a drunken one, with Ripper's replacement. Ripper hadn't made it back. Katniss paused behind them for a moment and then stepped up.

"Do you have a piece of paper Rylan?" She asked, Peeta watched inquisitively as he handed her a sheet and a pen. She quickly jotted down a simple, 'His name's Fin' and then put the bowl over the paper and slid it into Haymitch's sight.

Haymitch struggled to read the paper and then turned, pulling her into a fierce hug. She returned it, ignoring the difficult scent Haymitch was wearing.

"I can't give you back your old one and I'm sorry I lost him. But don't lose this Fin, Haymitch."

The words were quietly sad, Peeta felt, as he stood observing. He recognized too late the significance of the name _Fin_. It made him ache to see the exchange – reminded him of how Haymitch had lost any semblance of the friends that he had had in the Quell and the war. All they had had was each other since the rebellion and even that had been dangerous. He tried not to think about the day Katniss had let an arrow fly into Haymitch during a fit in the forest. They didn't like to think about that.

Katniss finally pulled back, eyes shiny, as she turned to lead them off towards the music again.

When they finally reached the square that had been set up for dancing, Peeta looked around. His sight landed on a vacant picnic table and pulled Katniss over to it. He sat down roughly, facing the stage and the dancing crowd. He was surprised when she didn't sit in front of him, opting instead to sit beside him and lean in, pulling his arm around her.

It was comfortable. He was happy. They were safe.

He held her close as they fell into a hypnosis watching the people sway before them.

As the sun lowered below the trees surrounding the District, cheers flew up from the crowds as strings of twinkling lights burst on overhead.

It was like the stars were in reach.

"I love you so much, Katniss," the words were quiet. He didn't shift to meet her eyes, or seek affirmation from her; he said it because he could and because he needed to, here, in this moment.

"Me too."

It was more than he needed as his heart skipped a beat and he planted a kiss on the crown of her head. She turned her face up to his and pulled him in close for another.

"Dance with me," he could feel the smile on her lips when she said it. That excitement from before was returning to him as he pulled them to their feet. He was a terrible dancer. His leg hurt. He didn't care.

She pulled him out into the dancing area as he watched her skirt blow in the breeze. They joined the crowd for the end of an exciting jig and then were drawn into a spinning circle dance.

Peeta was just about to lose out with his unsteady footing when the beat changed again and they were pushed back together for a slower song.

Content. He was content.

He'd never thought after the past year that he would be standing here, holding his one-time enemy tight to his own chest. The black tar of his hijackings had no place in this moment. It had no place in this _life._

Peeta had somehow broken the hold that the Capitol had installed on his life – a feat that everyone had thought impossible. He knew still that the blackness would overtake him. There would be days this week, weeks this year, where he would crumbled under the weight of his own mind.

But he would come back. He had a reason to come back. He'd come back for her.

As they moved with the breeze, Peeta rested his forehead against hers and sighed. His whole body had relaxed under the spell of the night.

When the flash of the bulb flickered beside them, Peeta could feel the tension reclaim him. Could feel the blackness bubbling.

"We just want to be left alone," he groaned. He didn't break free from Katniss in embarrassment of being caught – although he could feel her resisting his embrace. He held her tighter, protectively.

Another flash lit off.

He turned his face from hers and looked at the cameraman. His eyes were menacing. "I said, we don't want to be bothered – what don't you fucking understand?" His mood had soured in an instant and he could feel Katniss pulling herself closer to him by his shirt.

The cameraman stepped backwards and lifted to take another shot. Flash.

Peeta lunged, reaching for the lens. His hand never met it though as he saw Thom pull the camera down and toss it to the ground, his hard work boots crushing the delicate frame under his foot. The people who'd been around them had paused their dance and were watching silently.

"What the hell man! I've got-"

"You guys should get home, maybe." Thom said as he turned around to have a few words with the photographer. Peeta could see his wife standing off to the side, her hands on her hips as she watched on.

"Come on Peeta," Katniss whispered, pulling him through the crowd. She hadn't wanted to stick around to see how it played out. Although Peeta knew he would have appreciated putting his fist through that guy's face, if he'd had the opportunity.

They made their way in relative silence towards the Victor's Village. The lightness from earlier in the day had been dulled as they were reminded of their old spotlight. Peeta felt as though it was shining on them now, from a hovercraft in the sky. And then he heard it, the light humming of a familiar tune next to him.

He couldn't remember where the song had originated in his memory but it was so recognizable. His heart clenched as she continued.

"What song is that, Katniss?" She didn't respond and Peeta could feel her distance. When she finished the rounds he reached for her hand. They were approaching the steps to his front door.

"It's _The Hanging Tree_, my father used to sing it all the time." Her voice sounded so young. They entered the house and she headed towards the couch. Peeta stood by the stairs – he didn't want the evening to end with her losing time and him struggling to smother the black.

"Stay with me Katniss, let's go to bed." She met his gaze from the front room and he saw the flicker of awareness flash. She was struggling to get back like she'd witness him do so many times. He held out his hand to her.

They paused like that for a moment, watching each other with steady eyes. Peeta broke first, turning to head up the stairs. Katniss raced after him and grabbed his hand as she followed him up.

Together they undressed quietly and pulled down the sheets. She still wasn't back fully, he noticed, as she curled up away from him. He pushed his hand across the mattress and let it lay there, waiting for her when she came back.

He drifted to sleep with her fingers interwoven with his.


	16. Chapter 16

There had been other images captured that night at the Reaping Day festival. They'd floated through the District channels and had made their way into the hands of Plutrach Heavensbee. Peeta and Katniss had been informed that they'd again made the nightly news.

The people of Panem had responded in both a fury of anger on their behalf and a fluster of excitement. It was obvious which side the government came down on.

Cressida shows up on Katniss' doorstep within the week. Katniss isn't there. She's never there, she's always here. Nobody answers.

Peeta watches from his window in silence. He won't indulge the Capitol again on their need for affirmations. They're through with that stage of their lives.

Cressida moves on to Haymitch's doorstep. Peeta laughs quietly to himself knowing that she'll never get an answer there. Cressida seems to know it too as she doesn't wait too long before heading his way. He ducks his head out of the window view and joins Katniss who's napping on the mattress. There's no way in hell his door will be opened for any of them.

He hears the knock from below and sits his back against the wall, holding his hands in fists in his lap. He can feel the simmer of the black, pulled in more by the familiar face of Cressida who had been on the streets with them. He focuses instead on the way Katniss' body casts a shadow in the fading light.

The knocking stops.

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The next day the process starts over again at dawn. Cressida knocks on Katniss' door. Peeta watches from the bedroom window as she pulls out a communicuff-looking device and speaks into it. He doesn't like the look of this. He strides over to the bed and gently wakes Katniss.

It had been a rough night for both of them as he'd spent the first part muttering in a fit before she began drifting in and out of violent dreams.

When she sat up, Peeta could see the crestfallen attitude that masked her features. She wasn't quite present this morning. Not yet at least.

"Katniss," he drew her face to his and met her eyes, "Katniss, we're going to have visitors. You need to come back to me now." She nodded her face in his hands and then pushed off the bed, making her way to the shower. Peeta hears the water turn on and then not the gentle knock from the day before but instead two heavy poundings. His chest tightens.

They're here.

He makes his way steadily down the staircase and into the front hallway in his pyjama pants. He can see the large figures standing on the other side of the doorframe through the frosted windows. He doesn't want to play anymore. He has to. The knocks sound again.

Peeta swings open the door, letting the fresh air from outside cool his tense features. Upstairs he hears the water shut off.

He looks up to see two uniformed men. They're not Peacekeepers, this he can tell. He watches as Cressida steps out from behind them.

"Peeta!" She reaches in for a hug and he steps back into the safety of his home, escaping. He doesn't want to play. She steps back and looks him up and down. Her mouth goes tight when she lands on his chest and finds the patchwork of scars.

"What do you need?" His voice is barely controlled.

"Well, I wanted to see how you and our Katniss were doing. These two lugs came because we couldn't find her at her house and since under a provision of her release she is bound to this District we needed to locate her."

"I don't care what you _want_. I asked what you _need. _We just need to be left alone," he went to push the door closed; his efforts were halted by the large hand of the guard.

"We need visual confirmation, sir." And with that, they were in his house, pushing their way through to the kitchen and throughout the main floor. Peeta backed into a corner as the black began to move within his mind. He couldn't afford a relapse right now. His mouth let out a noise that he hadn't realized he was holding. Cressida swung around to watch him.

"I'm sorry Peeta, we just need to -" Her voice stops as her gaze catches something in the peripheral. Katniss is standing at the top of the stairs, bow in hand.

"She's not down here, we need to -" The guard catches Cressida's stare and follows it.

Silence fills out the strangled air. Peeta clenches his fists.

"She's here. Now you can go," The words are strangled in his throat. Cressida makes her way towards the stairs and Peeta lurches forward, grabbing her by the hips and pushing her away. He was trying to hold in his anger. He was trying. "You can't. We don't need you here."

Cressida looks up from her position on the floor. He stands at the base of the stairs, shoulders hunched and his scars stretched bright as he breathes heavily from the strain of the black. His pupils are expanding and retracting. He feels a cool hand run up his spine to his shoulder.

"It's okay, Peeta," she turns him to look into her eyes. "Cressida, you should come back later." She can see that he's struggling to be the _real _Peeta. Can see the resistance he has. He can faintly hear the sounds of heavy boots retreating before he's being lowered to the floor. She curls up in his lap and holds his head in her hands, watching the battle inside him.

"We're okay Peeta, we're safe. Come back to me," His shoulders slump and he closes his eyes, exhaustion playing on his features. He pulls her closer.

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Cressida doesn't come back later. She doesn't come back at all.

Peeta hears again later that week from Sae that they were on the news again with Cressida doing a report on how happy they were and telling the people of Panem about their renewed Toasting. The Toasting that hadn't ever really happened.

He silently appreciates her lies and her doctored photos of them knowing his behaviour could have brought on the wrath of the government.

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The mood in the house is bright as Peeta puts the final touches on the Kale's anniversary cake. The inquiry had been directed to him from the District bakery that suggested a specialized cake from him. He'd agreed, unsure of the implications but more than willing to make something beautiful again.

When Katniss returned home from the market she let out a low whistle.

"That looks amazing," she circled it as Peeta stood back, checking his work. It was a simple request of an ocean design that the Kale's had brought with them from District 4. He'd been excited to try something other than flowers.

"It's my first _real _cake since, well since before everything." He stated. She reached up to gently meet his lips with hers.

"It's beautiful."

"I... I made us something too." He went to the fridge and pulled out a small box, setting it on the table. She looked at him wearily and lifted the lid with one tentative hand. Inside was a smaller cake with a forest design, a small cabin and a lake hidden in the trees. He'd tried to create something for her.

She didn't say anything as she pulled him to her, lifting her face to meet his. The mood changed in an instant when his hands found her hips and held her tightly. He kissed her earnestly and longingly.

They stumbled backwards as the kiss progressed deeper, Peeta running his tongue along her teeth. His stomach pulled as he pressed into her. He could feel the moan on her lips.

"Peeta," her breath puffed out as she pulled away slightly. He moved his lips to her ear, her neck, her collar, as his hands drifted under her shirt. They began pushing backwards towards the couch in the front room.

"Katniss, are you –"

"I'm sure. I was sure last time. I am so sure it's killing me." She pulled his shirt free of his pants and pushed it off. He mimicked the movement and then pushed them down to the couch. He sat back on his haunches and stared at her bare chest.

"Beautiful," he murmured as he ran his hands over her scars and to her neck. She pulled him back down to her and they worked together to rid themselves of the rest of their clothing.

It wasn't long before they were panting together as they worked towards their release. Peeta held tightly as he pushed them over, gripping her hard and resting his head against her breasts.

He listened to her breaths even out as she pulled the couch throw over them; she rubbed his back softly. He was content. There was no black threatening him. There was nothing shiny about this.

His eyes began to droop low and he evened out, slowly slipping away.

"The cake was beautiful," it was a whisper, but it was enough to keep him conscious. She continued on, "I feel loved here. I do. I love you," he barely heard the words escape her lips. He debated for a moment whether he was supposed to hear them. He didn't care.

"Can we have a real Toasting one day, Katniss?" His voice was questioning. She tensed up below him as though shocked to find him awake. "I mean," he shifted to meet her eyes; they were shining with unshed tears, "We don't have to right now, just, will we ever have that?" He was terrified of the answer. He knew it wouldn't be a deal breaker. He just wanted to know.

The moment stretched on in silence as Peeta lowered his head back down to her chest and listened to her heartbeat. He didn't need an answer, he tried to tell himself. It still hurt.

"Peeta?" She stroked his hair. "Do you have any bread?"

He tried not to jump to the ceiling in surprise, instead opting to fall to the floor and stub his toe.

"Are you sure? I mean we don't have to to keep doing this," his arms spread out. He could feel his heart about to rip from his chest. "Katniss, I -"

He was paused as she met his lips with hers, her fingers holding his face lightly. He could feel the tear stains on their cheeks.

"You're here, I'm here. Why wait?"It was simple logic that made him soar as he ran, bare-assed, into the kitchen to grab a loaf from the bread box. He returned with bread in hand to Katniss dressed in his shirt with a small fire burning on the hearth. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and kneeled down across from her - watching her as she watched the flames.

"My Girl on Fire," he whispered, a smile curling on her lips. She turned to kneel across from him as well and reached for the hand that held the bread. Together they held it over the crackling flames letting the crust burn slightly.

It was a symbol of their joining. A symbol of how the fire had brought them together. He was the bread and she was the flames.

They lifted the bread free and broke off a piece each, sliding forward until their knees touched.

"Stay with me, Peeta," It was their phrase of total commitment. He placed the bread on her lips, their eyes never faltering from one another.

"Always."

Together they chewed in silence, holding the moment.

"We should tell Haymitch." Peeta let out a laugh, the seriousness of the moment dissipating at her suggestion as the mood became a sense of elation. His body was ringing and he was high on her. He pulled her to him as he ran kisses across her jaw.

"Later; I need to be with my _wife_." Katniss laughed and it was a sound that was so rare he cherished the moment.

"Not here, the couch springs are deadly!" She pulled him to his feet and they made it upstairs before falling into each other again.

He'd been a young boy when he'd first started to love her. He'd been a killer when he thought she was lost forever. He'd come back to her now and they were both damaged. But they still could love. And they still could _live_.

* * *

><p><em>And I think that's it. There's a short epilogue but yeah. I wasn't sure where to end this and since I'm going out of town for a few days this seemed like a fair ending (worst excuse ever). Hope you all enjoyed it and I love all of you for your amazing support and suggestions. The reviews were the highlight of my day, seriously. Please feel free to pose any outstanding questions or whatever in the reviews and I'll do my best to address. Love you all.<em>

_PS. I'm currently working on Long Way Out, a companion piece from Haymitch's POV.  
><em>


	17. Epilogue

He is Peeta Mellark. He was Reaped in the 74th Hunger Games. He made it home alive because of Katniss Everdeen. They were Reaped again in the Quarter Quell, the 75th Hunger Games. The arena was destroyed and with its destruction came a war.

He was captured and tortured. He was never quite the same again.

He was sent home to District 12 to live out his life. He suffered from intensive memory and anger issues as a result of the hijacking tools used during his torture.

He is still recovering.

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He is Peeta Mellark. He never re-opened the family bakery in District 12. A young family has already captured the baking market in the area.

He is not sad about this. He is relieved.

While baking has always been a solace for him, especially in recovery, he does not need the profit or the responsibility of a business in his life.

He now prepares and decorates pastries and cakes upon special request from people in the District. He frequently wins the blue ribbon pastry prize that was installed as part of the festivities of the reclaimed Reaping Day.

He declines the award and remains humble.

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He is Peeta Mellark. He is a friend to Gale Hawthorne and Thom Peat. He is a caretaker for Haymitch Abernathy.

His friendships are surprising as they were fostered at a time when Peeta was in early recovery. They started in resentment and jealousy. They started with a preference for Katniss. They transformed over the years.

He looks after Haymitch and his holed liver. He cleans the house, tends to his geese, and feeds his fish. He will never stop repaying the debt to this man.

ø

He is Peeta Mellark. He lives and loves Katniss Everdeen-Mellark. This never really changed. Looking back, even under the Capitol's disguise, he could never hate something that he didn't truly love.

They share a quiet life in District 12 with two children. He is a father. He is a husband. He is happy.

He is still recovering.


	18. Nominated!

Nominated!

Hey all, I apologize for popping this up in your inboxes – I never wanted to be _that writer_ but both _Long Way Out_ and _The Storm_ have been nominated over at 's Pearl Awards. I'd be incredibly appreciative if you'd take a moment to head on over and vote at this link:

http:/kwiksurveys [dot] com/?s=MKOIJH_e38a4140

Again, thank you so much for all of your reviews, favourites and just... awesomeness.


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